


A World of Refreshment

by RemindMeWhoIAm



Series: Lawyer, General, Vigilante [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Evil!Muse is locked away, F/F, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, Nuka world dlc, kind of crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 17:16:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11559780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemindMeWhoIAm/pseuds/RemindMeWhoIAm
Summary: James and Nora accidentally become the raider king and queen of Nuka-World.





	1. Meet the Overboss

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to write something more fun after 200,000+ words of emotional insanity. Please enjoy my poor attempts at humor :-)

     Bradberton turned out to be an abandoned prewar town built on the western side of the foothills, a mass of half-collapsed buildings baking under the summer sun.  Nora, Hancock, and Preston approached cautiously, Nora taking point with her shotgun held out loosely.  Dogmeat wandered alongside her, nose to the ground as he tracked something in circles through the dirt. 

     “Is this the place?”

     Nora checked her Pip-Boy map, which showed only a flashing green message – ERROR: OUT OF RANGE.

     “I sure hope so,” she said, “Should we split up and look for him?”

     “Let’s stick together for now,” Preston advised, “He can’t be too far --”

     Suddenly, Dogmeat tensed and growled, ears pricked towards one of the old houses.  Before Nora could ask what was wrong, he took off into the house.  At that moment, a loud yell echoed from inside and the wall burst outward, rotted wood splintering and flying in all directions.  James fell through the hole, falling backwards onto the ground as he grappled with a feral ghoul.

     Dogmeat lunged for the ghoul, knocking it off him, but a second stumbled forward and reached for James.  He grabbed it by the forearms, yelling as the feral screeched and clawed like a demented animal.

     “Son of a bitch!”

     Preston got the shot off first, the musket laser streaking through the air and landing square on the feral’s skull.  Its head exploded in a mess of blood and viscera, splattering James and Dogmeat, and the body collapsed on top of him.

     “Gah.  Ugh, ugh, gross, gross, gross --”

     “What the hell are you doing?” Nora demanded as James shimmied out from under the body with a shudder.

     “I didn’t see those two!” James exclaimed, “I already took out like five hundred of the nasty fuckers – no offense, Hancock – and they were just lying there!  I thought they were already dead!”

     Hancock shook his head but held out a hand, which James took and pulled himself up.

     “They can smell you,” Hancock informed him, “You gotta put a bullet in ‘em to make sure, because they don’t always hear or see you, but if you’re upwind...”

     “They can _smell_ \--?”

     “Smoothskins, yeah,” Hancock replied, “Ghouls in general can smell you guys comin’.”

     James frowned thoughtfully. “What do we smell like?”

     “Can we focus, please?” Preston interjected, “We just hauled ass here and you had some information about raiders?”

     Nora nodded in agreement.  James grimaced, wiping splattered blood off his face and neck.

     “That’s Nuka World,” he said, jerking his head back towards the walled behemoth in the distance. “Prewar amusement park.  You know it Nora?”

     “My grandparents took me a few times when I was a kid,” Nora replied, “What about it?”

     “Well, it’s filled with raiders and monsters,” James said, “Come on inside and I’ll fill you in.”

 

     “…and that’s where we’re at now.”

     James stood before them with his hands on his hips, staring expectantly.  Nora stared back with one eyebrow lifted, arms crossed over her chest.

     “You _accidentally_ became the overboss of three giant raider gangs?”

     “Yes.”

     “And you want me to help you get out of it alive by pretending to be a raider?”

     “Yes.”

     “And for whatever reason, we can’t just leave them here to kill each other?” Nora asked, “Sounds like they’re already almost to that point, anyway.”

     “Look at this place, Nora,” James said, stepping away from the window of the old house they’d sequestered themselves in.  He held out an arm in a grand sweeping gesture at the massive walls in the distance.

     “Look, I’m no marksman,” he continued, “But I’m not stupid.  Five parks and Nuka-Town, all of them with massive, intact stone walls.  This place is a literal fortress.”

     Preston stood and walked to the window, frowning worriedly. “He’s right, Nora.  Those walls are twice the height of the Castle’s.  If a large enough group got in there and got organized…”

     “It would spell disaster for the Commonwealth,” James said, “An army of Raiders – or Gunners?  Or Super Mutants?  They could roll right over every settlement from here to Diamond City before you guys even managed to calibrate the artillery.”

     Nora scowled. “So what do you propose?”

     “I propose that you get really fucking ambitious and take this place over for the Minutemen,” James answered, “Nuka-Town was already a decent trading post.  The old traders want their home back.  Help me get control of this place and we can turn it into the biggest damn metropolis since the bombs fell.”

     Preston looked over at Nora, mouth twitched up in a half-smile. “Works for me.”

     Nora chewed the inside of her lip. “I like the idea.  But how do you propose we take over this thing?”

     “I’ve got plans,” James said, “I’ve already scoped out the parks and started cooking up some ideas.  But I can’t do it alone.”

     He held out a hand to her contemplatively. “Will you be my raider queen?”

     Nora knocked his hand away. “I’ll help,” she said, “But I have conditions.”

     “Um…what conditions?”

     “One, you have to share _everything_ with me.  One ounce of bullshit and I’m gone.”

     “Perfectly fine by me.”

     “Two.  You have to stick around and help the Minutemen fix this place up if we pull this off.”

     “I can probably manage that.”

     “Good, because I’m shorthanded enough as-is,” Nora responded, “My final condition is that if I’m expected to stick any heads on any pikes, I’m out.  I don’t care if the head belonged to the worst fucker in history – I’m not doing it.  It’s gross.”

     James glanced sideways at Preston and Hancock, and then shrugged. “Uh, okay.”

     Nora nodded her agreement and stood, slinging her shotgun back over her shoulder. “Alright, then, when do we leave?”

     “As soon as you change.”

     “Change?”

     “Yeah, if you go in looking like that, they’ll never take you seriously,” James said, eyeing her flannel shirt and jeans critically. “Plus, the ballistic weave is going to give you away as ‘not a raider’ in minutes.”

     “Well, I hope you brought provisions, because I have this and a Red Sox t-shirt,” Nora replied, “I guess I’ll have to give up my Pip-Boy, too?”

     “Just leave it in your bag,” James answered, “I’ve got armor for you and all that.  And give me your weapons.”

     They exchanged gear, James handing her a pile of wrinkled clothes and leather armor as he took her shotgun, rifle, and Pip-Boy.  She cast an eye warily over the new outfit stepped into the blasted-out remains of a bathroom to change.  Hancock followed, leaning against the doorframe and blocking the view of her as she stripped.

     “You gonna be okay out here with him?” he asked in low tones, taking the ballistic weave clothing for her.

     “He’s not a great shot, but I trust him not to betray me.”

     “It’s not that I don’t trust him,” Hancock answered, “It’s just…I’d feel better with one of the other strays you’ve picked up.  MacCready or Preston, or even Danse.”

     There was a loud rip as James tore a long strip off a roll of duct tape, interrupting Nora’s reply.

     “FYI, I can hear you two,” he said, “You need to learn to whisper conspiratorially at a much lower decibel.”

     “What the hell are you doing to my shotgun?” Nora demanded, staring, scandalized, as James wrapped duct tape around the stock.

     “You can’t walk into a raider gang with a Minuteman logo on your gun,” James replied, “As beautiful as the silversmithing is, it’s gotta hide for now.”

     “That better not leave a mark.”

     James ignored her, smoothing the layers of duct tape and stuffing the roll back into his bag. “As I was about to explain, it won’t be just me and you doing all the work.  We need some of your people to infiltrate the gangs.”

     “Infiltrate the gangs?” Preston echoed doubtfully, “Don’t you think sending you and Nora in is pushing it?”

     “With me as overboss, promising to clear the parks and get shit rolling, they’re recruiting like mad,” James answered, “If we can just get one or two people in, feeding us some information, it’ll be a godsend.”

     “Which gangs – there’s, what, three?”

     “The Disciples, Operators, and Pack,” James replied with a nod, “You know, MacCready would probably make a good Operator, being a sniper and all…”

     He scratched the stubble on his chin, staring at the ceiling contemplatively. “Once you get back to Sunshine Tidings, spread the word to whoever you trust with this sort of thing.  Send them in with a caravan or something like that.  In ten days, everyone needs to sneak back out and meet here again.”

     “Ten days?” Nora repeated, eyes wide. “It’s two days just to get back to Sunshine Tidings.  How the hell are we supposed to manage any of that with such a short time frame?”

     “A little west of Sunshine is the Nuka World Transit center,” James said, “It’s over the ridge, you follow the old highway.  It’s how I got here.  That big electric monorail brings it in – they had it rigged so that you had to either jump two stories to the ground or run through the Gauntlet when you got off, but I sent it back to the station and rigged it so that it stops once you get out of the tunnel and the doors open.  It’s a slight drop to the ground, but safer and people can get here in a half hour instead of two days.”

     Nora stared for a moment, clearly impressed. “Wow.”

     James shrugged. “I’m good with computers.  Send everyone in on one trip in a few days.  Nobody’s got eyes over there, it shouldn’t be hard to make sure they don’t notice.”

     “Sounds like I’m going to miss out on some real fun,” Hancock said with a depressed sigh.

     “No, you’ll have to come back for the truly fun stuff,” James interjected, “Don’t worry, there’s plenty of killing to be done.  We’ll save you some.”

     “Much obliged,” Hancock replied with a gentlemanly tip of his hat.

     “I’m ready to get this show moving,” Nora said, “Do I look suitably raider-ish?”

     James tapped his chin with one finger, eyeing her up and down. “You have scars, right?”

     “Scars?”

     “Yeah, you need something to show off,” James said, “Especially around the Pack…”

     He walked a tight circle around her.  Nora turned, frowning, and covered her bare midsection with her hands.

     “I’m an Irish redhead,” she said, “If I expose anything more than this, I’ll burn to a crisp before we can even clear one park.”

     “Just hike the shirt up some more.  That bullet hole from Lyssa still looks pretty scary.”

     Nora curled her lip. “I’m not sure this even qualifies as a _shirt_ …”

     “Are you done trying to undress my wife?” Hancock asked, brow furrowed in a way that James had learned meant certain danger ahead.

     “Yes, you look suitably raider-ish,” he told Nora, eyes raking down her one last time, taking in the cropped top, the leather and tall boots, the studded armor that would protect her shoulders and knees and also hid the untanned patch of skin around her right wrist where she kept her Pip-Boy.  It made her look as dangerous as he knew she could be.

     “Then let’s move,” Nora replied, “These guys need to get going if this plan of yours is going to work, anyway.”

     “You guys run like hell if the whole thing gets blown,” Preston said, “I’d love for this to work but if it doesn’t, we’ll figure something else out.”

     “We’ll be careful, Pres,” Nora replied with a weak smile at him, “You guys watch out, too.”

     “She’s heading out with someone new,” Preston said, looking over at Hancock. “Would you like the honors?”

     “I think he’s already afraid of me,” Hancock answered, “You go ahead.”

     “Um, what --”

     Preston pulled a long, well-polished knife out of his belt, the metal scraping on its holster.  He held it pointed at James.

     “I don’t take kindly to people getting my best friend killed,” he said, “So you come back with her intact or you don’t come back at all.”

     James’s eyes widened and he nodded obediently. “Understood.”

     “Good,” Preston replied, re-sheathing the knife with his usual kind smile. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

     “We’re leaving now,” Nora said loudly, throwing Preston a dirty look even though she hadn’t moved a muscle to prevent the dick-measuring display. “I’ll see you guys in ten days, alright?”

     “Ten days or we’re moving on the place,” Hancock agreed, “Be careful, love.”

     There were murmured goodbyes, hugs, and a chaste kiss between Nora and Hancock, and then the pairs parted ways, Dogmeat loping behind James and Nora with his tail wagging.

     They made their way across the empty wasteland, skirting the walls of Kiddie Kingdom before coming up around the side of Nuka-Town.  James glanced behind them, a little paranoid that Preston and Hancock were still in earshot.  When he saw they were alone, he stopped Nora with a hand on her elbow.

     “Uh, there’s one more thing,” he said, “I forgot to mention.”

     Nora narrowed her eyes. “What now?”

     “Well, the guy keeping an eye on me…” James began, looking anywhere but at her. “When I told him I needed help clearing the parks, he offered.”

     “Okay…”

     “I turned him down because he weirds me out.  I said I needed you.”

     “Get to the point.”

     James took a deep breath. “I told him you were my wife.”

     “You told him _what_?” Nora hissed, rounding on him.  James took a step back and held up his hands in surrender.

     “It was the only reason I could think of why I would want you to come out and help me instead of him,” he said, “I couldn’t just bring in some random stranger without someone getting suspicious that I’m not in this for the pillaging and plundering, okay?”

     Nora shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. “James…”

     “It’s just for show,” he reassured her, “And just for like, two weeks.  And your name isn’t Nora, it’s Renee.”

     “That’s my middle name.”

     “I know.  I figured it was easier to remember.  Some of these raiders are from Diamond City; they’ll know the name Nora Wilson.  So we’re Hawk and Renee, a former vaultie and his raider wife from the Capital.”

     “Hawk.”

     “Short for ‘Hawkins’,” James answered with a grin, “It sounds more menacing than Fixer or James, and certainly more so than J.J. or Junior.”

     “You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be.”

     James shrugged and threw an arm over her shoulders. “Let’s go see our new home, shall we, honey?”


	2. Boredom and Bastards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this was going to be the happier piece, and then I dropped this chapter, but I promise, it will not get much angstier than this. *pinky swear*

     For the first time in years, Charon was bored.

     Enjoying his work was a concept lost to him a long time ago.  He didn’t need that.  But he always liked a challenge.

     James Hawkins, always managing to find some new way to get himself in a pickle, had never left him bored.  That much he had claim to, if little else.

     With James snuck off on his own and his new employer busy with things she didn’t need him for, Charon was starting to go a bit nuts.  He didn’t like being bored.  He was a recipe for disaster – his skills went to shit during and, at the worst times, he started remembering things.

     Ahzrukhal had been an evil bastard and Charon had gladly put a shotgun shell in his chest for it. But the rest of the shells had been for the added insult of making him sit in that corner of the Ninth Circle for decades on end with little else to do _but_ remember.

     Charon stopped in front of the General’s quarters and glanced around.  He knew Nora kept a to-do list somewhere in or on her desk with things more exciting than _we seriously need someone covering the holes in guard duty, Charon, I promise it isn’t busywork._

Certain that no one was around to see him sneaking into her private quarters like a fiend, he yanked the door open and slipped inside quickly.  The room wasn’t terribly large, more like a warm cave with its granite floor, walls, and ceiling, furnished with an array of mismatched pieces into a combination work and living space.  Charon paused and let his eyes adjust to the darkness, then stepped cautiously towards the desk on the far end of the room.  He’d barely gone five feet when a wailing squeak pierced the dark silence and he jumped, reaching for his shotgun before he realized it he had just stepped on one of those stupid rubber aliens.  His employer’s infant daughter and her dog seemed to enjoy the damned things and they followed wherever the two went like annoying hobgoblins.

     Charon forced himself not to reach down and rip the damn thing in half.  Boredom was starting to get the better of him.

     When he reached Nora’s desk, it didn’t take long for him to find her to-do list.  He took great satisfaction in her prewar sense of organization, everything sorted and stacked neatly, papers unwrinkled, folders labeled with penmanship that had probably won her grade-school awards back in the day.  The to-do list was in one of the drawers; he slipped it out and scanned down the list quickly.

 

_Deacon_

_Wall repairs – need more concrete_

_Restock armory (fusion cells & frag grenades)_

_Re-vent latrines at Castle (draw straws if no one volunteers)_

_Liam Binet (last seen by DC security going northeast)_

_Find donors & Calmex for Curie_

_Brian Virgil – way out of the Sea?  Take Allie’s holotape_

     And on the list went, down three-quarters of the page.  Much of it involved dealing with people, negotiating, talking, establishing rapport – nothing he had been remotely good at even before the end of the world.

     But the Glowing Sea…

     Charon crouched and continued rifling through desk drawers until he found the little cardboard box that held all of Nora’s holotapes.  She had labeled and alphabetized them, so it took only a few seconds to locate the one marked _Allie Filmore._   He grabbed it and stuffed it into his shirt pocket, making plans in his head as he refiled all the papers he’d pulled out.

     He restocked his supplies at the Castle armory, glad that Ronnie Shaw didn’t ask many questions.  When he was loaded up with shotgun shells, grenades, and .308 ammo, he went for the clinic, gathering up as many stimpaks, Rad-Away, and Rad-X as the settler manning the supplies would let him have without a fuss.  There was an intact hazmat suit in the catacombs storage beneath the Castle; Charon stuffed it and the matching helmet into his bag after making sure there were no rips or weaknesses in the lead-lined fabric.  If he could convince Dr. Virgil to leave his cave, Charon was confident he could get him across the Glowing Sea and back to safety in just a few hours. 

     It wasn’t the exact challenge he was looking for, but it was better than waiting at the Castle, wearing a path in the granite as he did his eight-millionth watch rotation for the week.

     Ronnie Shaw gave him a lazy salute as he marched across the courtyard and out the south entrance.  Charon didn’t return it, busy mentally cataloguing his route to Somerville and debating whether or not to avoid trouble spots on the way down.

     He was barely out of the shadow of the Castle before he’d made up his mind to meet them head-on.  He had plenty of ammo and any supplies he used up could be restocked along the way.  His employer wouldn’t be back for a while and the Castle was fine without him; he needed the action or going feral from boredom was in his immediate future.

     Out on the road, the sun setting over the ocean as he picked his way down the coast, it didn’t take long for him to fall back into a frame of mind he could live with.  Shoot first, ask questions later.  Kill or be killed.  Do the job and do it properly.

     When he came across the first group of raiders, a disorganized gang holed up in an old apartment building on the south end of Boston, he loaded up his shotgun with grim satisfaction.  He almost missed James charging out to meet the raiders, bat swinging wildly as he wished for the thousandth time the kid would learn how to use his gun properly.

     Almost.

 

     George hadn’t wanted to admit it, even to himself, but he knew the strange peace that Nora brokered – synths and Institute scientists living in harmony, Brotherhood soldiers working alongside ghouls – couldn’t last very long.  He just hadn’t expected Shaun to be involved when the first crack in the façade appeared.

     Shaun and Duncan MacCready had proven to be the best of friends, attached at the hip even if there was an age difference and simply no one else to play with.  They tinkered with junk and bragged to anyone who would listen about their shooting lessons; they helped Haylen in the clinic and played tag in the mutfruit orchard on sunny days.  They’d happily reunited on Shaun’s return to Sanctuary and – it seemed – accepted Quentin Filmore as a third without question.

     When he heard the yelling outside, he didn’t think much of it at first.  He’d grown up with two brothers; boys fought and wrestled and made noise.  It wasn’t until he heard Shaun distinctly yell _asshole_ that his alarm bells rang.

     Outside, scuffling in the melon patch between the houses, Shaun and Quentin were fighting.  Duncan stood to the side, egging Shaun on as he rolled the other boy over and raised his fist for what looked like a savage right hook.

     “Hey, hey, hey, cut it out,” George called over the hollering, grabbing his grandson and lifting him off the other child.  Shaun fought back like a rabid cat, spitting and kicking in fury.

     “They aren’t zombies, you asshole!” he screeched, kicking George in the knee and lunging for Quentin.  The noise had attracted a crowd; MacCready pushed through alongside Allie Filmore, yanking Duncan roughly away and clapping a hand over his mouth.

     “Shaun, stop it!” George yelled back, as sternly as he could.  The boy made a grab for Quentin again, trying to duck under George’s arm.

     “What’s going on here?” MacCready asked, and Duncan quailed under his father’s gaze.

     “Quentin called them zombies,” he mumbled at his feet, “Shaun told him to stop but he wouldn’t so he hit him.”

     “And you cheered him on?”

     Duncan shrugged, still staring at his feet as his ears turned red.

     “I said I was sorry!” Quentin yelled, shrugging off his mother’s protective arm and starting towards Shaun. “You didn’t have to hit me!”

     “They aren’t zombies and I’m not ‘it’!  You’re a bastard, Quentin --”

     George grabbed Shaun’s arm and yanked him around. “That’s enough, Shaun.  No more.”

     Shaun scowled at him, jerking his arm away. “Ghouls aren’t zombies,” he snapped, swiping at his bleeding lip before turning and marching away into the house.  George sighed and looked over at Allie, who was bright red and visibly flustered.

     “I’m – I’m sorry,” she stammered, brushing dirt off Quentin’s shirt. “He didn’t mean it, really --”

     George waved a hand dismissively. “It happens,” he said, feeling like the world’s biggest hypocrite.

     Allie nodded tersely and scurried away with a tight hand on her son’s shoulder.  The crowd had already begun to disperse, the adults whispering to themselves and shaking their heads.

     “…he’s just a kid, doesn’t know any better…”

     “…never gonna learn if someone doesn’t teach him…”

     “…should have known better with who his mother married…”

     Inside, Shaun had thrown himself on the couch, slumped down with his arms crossed as blood dripped from his split lip onto his shirt.  Codsworth was rummaging through the first aid supplies, tittering to himself, as Anne pulled herself up on Shaun’s jeans, trying to grab for him enthusiastically.  Shaun was usually happy to indulge his baby sister, but now he ignored her, glaring into the middle distance.

     “We have stimpaks if necessary, sir,” Codsworth said, but George shook his head.

     “It doesn’t look that bad,” he replied, sitting next to Shaun and putting a hand gently under his jaw.  The cut on his lip wasn’t deep and he hadn’t lost any teeth that George could see; the only other injury seemed to be the ghost of a bruise forming on his cheekbone.  Shaun let him inspect the damage but refused to meet his eyes.

     “Gotta learn to pick your battles, kiddo.”

     “I did.  I picked Quentin.”

     George sighed internally and chose not to respond.  Three generations, it seemed, had not bred the smart-ass gene out of his progeny.  He took the medical supplies Codsworth offered and folded up a square of gauze before dousing it with purified water.

     “Hold that on your lip so it’ll stop bleeding.”

     Shaun took the gauze and pressed it gingerly to his lip, which had already begun to swell to an impressive size.  Anne tugged on his jeans again, desperate to get his attention, and he relented and let her grab his free hand in one sticky fist.

     “What happened?”

     “I told him _twice_ not to say it, but he keeps calling ghouls ‘zombies’ and synths ‘it’,” Shaun replied, slurring around the gauze pressed to his mouth. “He didn’t stop so I hit him.”

     George nodded and sat back on the couch.  His knee smarted from Shaun’s flailing.

     “You should have come and talked to me.”

     “Why?” Shaun snapped, glowering. “So you could complain to his mom?  She used to call me ‘it’, too.  They all did.”

     George flinched but didn’t say anything.  Trying to tell Shaun anything along the lines of “words, not fists” felt like talking out of his ass, so he stayed silent.  After a few minutes, Shaun pulled the gauze off his lip and crumpled it.

     “Are you going to tell Mom and Dad?”

     “Only if you don’t.”

     George couldn’t tell if Shaun was pouting or if it was just his swollen lip poking out.

     “Go wash up, kiddo,” he said, patting his shoulder. “I’ll make us something to eat.”

     He watched out the window as Shaun dragged his feet to the water pump, scrubbing off his hands and splashing his face. 

     _Tell ‘em what we did to all those Brotherhood soliders_ , Lyssa whispered in his ear, _They’ll leave him alone after that._

     George shook her away.  Calmex kept her from popping up in the living room, but the dosages Curie gave him didn’t get rid of her voice, that teasing croon buzzing around his head like a particularly annoying fly.

     _Kid’s got the right idea.  Show ‘em who’s boss._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a tumblr. I fell down the rabbit hole.
> 
> sociallyacceptablemadness.tumblr.com 
> 
> join meeeeee


	3. Disciples, Cheese, and Coursers

     “So, tell me again, why aren’t we making these assholes come to _us_?”

     James threw Nora a withering look as they left the amphitheater. “You don’t make all your constituents come to you, do you?”

     “No, but I’m a good guy,” Nora replied, dropping her voice as they passed a pair of Operators outside the market. “My people are also busy doing _useful_ things like producing food and protecting other, more helpless people.  Not – not cage-fighting gorillas and --”

     James waved a hand. “Yes, yes, I get it.  Bear with me, here, okay?”

     “My point is, James, if you want to be a leader, you gotta show some gumption,” Nora said, “You’re the boss, you make the rules.  Throw your weight around.”

     “I _don’t_ want to be a leader, Nora,” James sighed, “I never have wanted to be a leader.  Fuck, ever since I walked out of the damned vault, it’s ‘defuse our nuclear bomb’ and ‘help give everyone clean water’ and ‘destroy the Enclave’ and, and --”

     “You say those things like they’re bad.”

     “They aren’t, they’re just…” James stopped and sighed, leaning into the shade of an old souvenir stand.  He lifted his sunglasses and rubbed his face with both hands.

     “I’m not a good person.  You don’t put me in charge of stuff because I fuck it up or inevitably get distracted by the next piece of ass that walks by.  I’m not smart, I can’t shoot, and I can’t lead people.  I stumbled into this role by accident and I’m relying on you and your Minutemen to get me the fuck out with my head attached.”

     Nora contemplated him for a moment. “James, you don’t really believe that about yourself, do you?”

     “Why would I have said it if I didn’t believe it?” James asked her, rolling his eyes. “I think I know more about myself than you do, no offense.”

     Nora gave him a look, something he couldn’t quite read and yet made him a tad uncomfortable.  She leaned in close to him, pressing her small, lithe, curvy body against his.  James froze as her face came near to his, marveling at how bright her gray eyes were, like darkened, polished gunmetal –

     “Those freaks over there have been staring at us for a while,” she said, briefly cutting her gaze to the left.  James swallowed and looked over or a moment, briefly locking gazes with a Disciple in her weird metal armor, before looking back at Nora.  She smirked at him.

     “You’re like a nervous teenager,” she muttered, a laugh shaking her body against his. “Just don’t get any ideas.”

     “Are you kidding,” he managed, taking a shuddering breath. “I’ve met your husband.  I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole even if I wanted to.”

     Nora rolled her eyes and stepped back. “Thanks, Jimmy.  Way to make a gal feel special.”

     Able to breathe without her amazing form so stiflingly close, James smirked back. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to tap that,” he said, earning himself a dark look. “But that’s it.  You’re not my type.”

     “I get it,” Nora replied, “That was for show, alright?  You aren’t my type, either.”

     “Yeah, I still have a nose.”

     “You’re irritating as shit, more like.”

     “I’m not that bad.”

     “You’re like a leech of a little brother.”

     “You’re a know-it-all.”

     “You can kiss my ass.”

     “Don’t give me ideas,” James replied, winking at her as they came on the old warehouse where the Disciples liked to lurk.  He pulled open the door and waved her inside grandly. “After you, my darling.”

     “My eyes are up here, Jimmy.”

     “I’m never going to be able to ‘throw my weight around’ if you keep calling me Jimmy in front of everyone,” he hissed in her ear, looping an arm around her shoulders. “I’m _Hawk_.  It’s menacing.  Grr.”

     Nora looked like she was about to say something but sobered quickly.  James glanced around as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and the smell hit him.  It took a massive effort not to gag; the amphitheater’s aroma of sun-baked dog shit had nothing on this place.  It stank of wet, metallic blood mingling with rotten body parts and sweat, the stench accompanied by a lonely, pained moan from off to his right.  James looked around, biting his tongue hard to stem the tide of profanities, to try and find the person moaning.  Places only ended up this nasty with _experimentation._

“Fucking-A, this is disgusting,” Nora declared loudly, looking around with her lip curled in obvious disgust.  James bit his tongue harder as three Disciples turned masked faces to them.  Nisha, Dixie, and Savoy – he’d gotten the rundown from Gage and purposefully left them for last.

     “Well, look who it is,” one of the Disciples said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Gage’s little pet project.”

     “And who the hell are you?” Nora retorted, somehow managing to look down her nose at the woman despite being at least four inches shorter.  James tightened his arm around her shoulders warningly, but she ignored him.

     “I’m Nisha and I lead the Disciples,” the raider woman replied, her voice tinted with the barest hint of irritation. “Let me guess – you’re the piece of ass our new boss had to wait on before he got off his own to do any work around here.”

     Nora smiled beatifically, showing her teeth in a decidedly menacing way. “Call me Renee.”

     James cleared his throat loudly.  Nora had remained silent while he talked to Mags and William and only made one or two choice remarks to Mason, but seemed bound and determined to piss off Nisha as quickly as possible.

     “I hope you know that the title ‘overboss’ doesn’t mean shit around here without some action to back it up,” Nisha said, turning to James. “Screw this up and you’ll end up just like Colter.”

     “Are you questioning me?” James asked, straightening a bit and cocking his head to the side.  Nisha’s mouth twitched.

     “Not questioning,” she answered, her voice pitched low and toneless. “I’m just cautious.  I won’t tolerate another round of bullshit.”

     “Is that right?”

     A muscle in Nisha’s jaw tightened. “Don’t get comfortable if you aren’t planning on proving you’re worth that title Gage slapped on you.”

     “You sound like you’d be great at parties,” James replied, grinning and shaking his head.  Nora shot him a look.

     “I’m taking it you don’t like Gage,” she said, “Which is weird, because he seems like the only one that’s actually gotten off his ass to do anything with this park.  I mean, what’ve you guys done, sit around here and…redecorate in maroon?”

     She glanced around at the blood-spattered walls and spiked body parts with open contempt.  There was a beat of silence in which James let out a string of curses inside his head and Nisha watched Nora with unblinking fury.

     “Gage is lucky he didn’t get his little suck-up throat slit a long time ago,” she replied at last, “What would you know about it?”

     “I know if I see something I want, I take it,” Nora replied with a shrug, “I don’t sit around complaining and making empty threats.”

     “You might soon find out they aren’t empty.”

     “I’ll believe it when I see it,” Nora said, giving Nisha a smug smile. “C’mon, Hawk.  We’ve got shit to do.”

     She lead the way back outside and towards the Fizztop Grille.  Once they were out of earshot of any of the raiders, the elevator rattling its way down to them, James turned to her with his eyes wide.

     “Are you fucking _insane_?”

     “What, that?” Nora asked, jerking her head back towards the Disciples’ hole. “Nah.”

     “Could have fooled me.”

     Nora stepped onto the makeshift elevator and punched the red button. “Mason, Mags, and William like you,” she said, “They’re going to be easy to keep happy.  Nisha, not so much.”

     “Are you going somewhere with this, or just pointing out the obstacles in our path?”

     “Have you been listening to the chatter around this place?” Nora answered, shaking her head. “None of the gangs like each other, but the Disciples seem to be our problem children.  They’re the bullies.  Make the Operators and the Pack happy and you’ll reinforce that.”

     “So that the knife-happy problem children rebel and slaughter us?”

     “There’s five parks and three gangs,” Nora said, “Someone’s going to rebel.  It’s inevitable.  But if we make sure Mags and Mason are eating out of our palms, then they’ll back us up when the Disciples try to stage a coup.  Do some of the work for us in taking this place back.”

     James pulled her close as the elevator rattled to a stop. “This is why I brought you in,” he muttered in her ear, “You’re a fucking genius.”

     “I know people.”

     James squeezed her as they stopped off, waving vaguely to Gage, who had been sitting inside the Grille waiting for them.

     “So how’d your little meet-and-greet go, Boss?”

     “Oh, it was lovely,” James replied, letting go of Nora. “I think we’ll get everyone together soon for some team-building exercises, maybe a few icebreaker games.”

     Nora rolled her eyes as she dropped her back on one of the old diner tables and sat down.  Gage looked between them and then back to James with confusion.

     “Whatever you say, Boss.”

     “We’re starting on the parks first thing in the morning,” James replied, twirling in one of the bar seats. “I know you were going to ask.”

     “Got an idea on which one you plan to tackle first?”

     “I figured we’d just wing it,” James said, “But, let me take a look.”

     He made a show of digging through his bag and pulled out a folded park map with a flourish, then slapped it onto the counter.

     “They’re all going to be a pain in the ass,” he said, glancing over it. “So…”

     He covered his eyes with one hand and pointed down at the map with the other, moving his finger in nonsensical spirals before stabbing it down on a random place on the map.

     “Dry Rock Gulch,” he said, lowering the hand over his eyes. “Sounds fantastic.  Ready to giddy up, darling?”

     Nora gave him a shrug and a smile. “Whatever you say, Jimmy.”

     “The queen approves,” James answered, winking conspiratorially at Gage and clapping him on the shoulder. “Go spread the good news far and wide, my vassal.”

     “Whatever you say, Boss.”

     Nora waited until she heard the elevator clunk back down on the ground before shaking her head.

     “You’re very weird, you know.”

     “I prefer the term eccentric,” James replied, hopping off his twirling seat and striding over towards the big bed in the corner. “I’m also starving, incidentally.”

     Nora threw an oiled cloth package at him, which he barely caught.  He unwrapped it gratefully and evaluated the contents.

     “What the hell is this?”

     Nora glanced up briefly as she unwrapped her own ration. “Brahmin cheese.”

     “Brahmin _what_?”

     “Cheese,” Nora repeated.  James raised his eyebrows, eyeing the little round wheel covered in a layer of brown wax suspiciously.

     “Don’t tell me you don’t know what _cheese_ is.”

     “Sounds like something weird,” James replied, picking at the wax. “Am I supposed to eat this part or…?”

     “The wax just preserves it,” Nora said, “It’s made from brahmin milk and it’s actually pretty good.  Kind of like cheddar.”

     “What’s cheddar?”

     “A delicious prewar food,” Nora answered, “Peel the wax off and try it.”

     James did so, taking a tiny nibble of the hard yellow substance underneath the wax.  It had a distinct sharpness to it, an almost overpowering flavor he found strangely appealing.

     “The Institute remnant I brought in to Sanctuary was having some dietary issues,” Nora informed him as he took another bite, “They were all basically vegan down there, only eating what they could grow and substituting everything else with synthetic vitamins.  Couldn’t get anyone but Z to try a meat or milk, so we had to get a milking brahmin and try offering cheese.”

     “Why cheese?”

     “It’s protein and fats.  And apparently has a texture they’ll accept.”

     “It’s not bad, I’ll give you that.”

     “Not bad,” Nora scoffed, “Cheese is a food group.”

     “Whatever you say,” James replied, “Who’s Z?”

     “Z1-15.  The Courser,” Nora said, “Speaking of Coursers, whatever happened to the one you were supposed to be tracking?”

     “Sighted him outside Sunshine Tidings,” James replied, “Managed to lure him away down south but he disappeared again before Glory could come take care of him.  I went back up to Sunshine to keep an eye out, caught his signal again, and then lost it outside the Nuka World transit center.”

     Nora frowned. “Is he here around the parks, you think?”

     “I haven’t gotten his signal again,” James replied, tapping his Pip-Boy. “I’ve been all over the damn place, too.  I mean, he could be holed up in one of the parks, but I highly doubt it.  If he was tracking a synth or something, he probably lost them in the caravans and slave traders that come through here.”

     Nora’s stomach tightened at the idea of a synth getting trapped by the raiders. “Let’s hope he isn’t in one of the parks,” she said after a moment, “That’ll make our job ten times more difficult.”

     “Don’t I know it,” James replied, finishing off the last of his dinner before pulling a toolbox out from under the bed and fishing out a screwdriver.  Nora watched as he strode over to the elevator and removed several screws from the machinery before dropping them back into his toolbox.

     “I don’t trust these raiders just yet,” he said, “Or Gage.”

     “What about the other one?”

     “I already disabled that one.  Cut the power cable.”

     “So we’re stuck up here if something did happen.”

     “You got a better idea?”

     “A missile launcher would be nice,” Nora said, leaning out one of the broken windows as she surveyed the darkened park below. “Or just a good sniper rifle.”

     “Patience,” James replied.  He toed off his boots and left them in a pile with the armor he’d been wearing, then stripped down to his jeans and reclined back on the old bed.  Nora lifted an eyebrow and he patted the mattress with one hand, grinning at her.

     “Come to bed, darling.”

     “What, you think I plan to sleep on one of those nasty mattresses in there?” Nora asked, joining him as she also undressed. “I lost all sense of prewar primness pretty early on.  I’ve shared a bed with Preston, MacCready, Piper, Deacon, even Cait.  Just keep your hands to yourself and don’t snore.”

     “You’re making this fake relationship so boring.”

     “I’m sorry to disappoint,” Nora replied, kicking her pants to the side and sliding her Red Sox shirt over her head.  She crashed onto the mattress next to him, legs stretched out leisurely, fingers laced together behind her head.  James sighed and rolled to his side, purposefully keeping his gaze away from her rounded hips.

     “You think we can really do this?”

     Nora looked over and nodded. “I think so.”

     “I got through the Gauntlet on sheer luck,” James continued with a sigh, “Almost everything was automated.  I have my pocket EMP, so I managed to short-circuit half of it.  Not really a stellar, awe-inspiring show of skill.”

     “Pocket EMP?”

     “My little battery thing,” James said, “Used it to disarm that cage bomb at Fort Hagen.  I made myself one when I started working with the Brotherhood.  They’d find Enclave outposts and take out the soldiers, then I wiped any terminals they had and destroyed eye bots.”

     “Did you teach Shaun how to make one?” Nora asked, brow furrowed. “Because Codsworth suffered a big memory loss mysteriously about a month ago.”

     “He probably didn’t have it up strong enough,” James replied, smiling apologetically at her.

     “My poor Mister Handy forgot all about the last six months.”

     “Definitely needs to adjust the power settings.”

     “The last thing he needs is to know how to mess with Codsworth even further.”

     “That’s half the fun of computers, though.  Screwing with people.”

     “You’re a bad influence.”

     “And proud of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I once ate the wax coating on a fancy slice of cheese when I got a sample from a farmer's market. In my defense, it was basically the same color as the cheese itself.


	4. Critters

     In the centuries since those first bombs dropped, Charon had seen a good chunk of the destruction.  He had been across the former United States and back, walked along the broken roads in the immediate aftermath, seen the changing landscapes as the world broke and healed and broke again.

     The Glowing Sea was, however, unique.  He’d never encountered a single area so heavily irradiated that the fallout hung over the land like a fog, poisoning the air and obscuring whatever was hidden inside.  He left Somerville as the sun set, walking southwest through the sea with a face mask to keep out the swirls of dust and ash the incessant wind kicked up.  The broken, charred husks of trees reached out of the land like skeletal arms, all pointing the opposite way he traveled, ominous warning signs to turn back.  The radiation was a gentle prickle on his skin, like warm water bubbles crawling over him, as strong as if he were wading through a pit of radioactive waste.  That Nora had walked in and back out of this wasteland without dying was nothing short of a mind-blowing miracle.

     He walked for several miles, going against the pattern of destruction towards the Crater, before encountering anything he couldn’t avoid.  Just past a burnt and half-buried Red Rocket he scrambled up a knoll and saw the radscorpions congregated in the valley below.  He dropped to a crouch, taking cover behind an outcropping of rocks halfway down the hill.  After a quick survey of the area, he counted three adults and one juvenile, as well as two large nests.  Too many to try and take out on his own.

     Charon shifted, sliding his shotgun carefully back into the holster across his back before adjusting the mask and tightening the shoulder straps of his bag.  He fumbled for a moment and pulled two grenades out of his pants pocket.  Carefully, quietly, he crept down the edge of the knoll, skirting the edge of the valley as the radscorpions meandered through the radioactive fog, unaware of his presence.

     He made it halfway around the crater before trouble.  As he scrambled over and around a set of craggy boulders, his boot slipped.  He cursed as he fell down the hill into the crater, a torrent of rocks and dirt following him.  He grasped for a handhold, anything, as he hurtled straight down towards the waiting claws of an adult radscorpion.  At the last minute, only ten feet from the creature, he latched onto a dry tree root and stopped abruptly.  The radscorpion rushed him, its stinger whipping through the air.  He rolled as the stinger slammed into the dirt inches from his side and slid further down as the tree root snapped.

     He’d dropped the grenades; as he dodged another swipe of the radscorpion’s stinger, he yanked his shotgun from its holster one-handed and fired into the group.  Two of them jerked back, caught by the pellet spray.  The big one stuttered back a few steps, distracted, giving Charon just enough time to snatch a grenade from his pocket and yank out the pin.  He lobbed it down into the crater and fired a second shot, then scrambled onto his feet and began running.

     He had barely cleared fifteen feet when he heard the grenade go off, a muffled explosion that set off the other two he had dropped earlier.  Huffing as his heart pounded, he struggled up the crater, grabbing at the rocks and debris to pull himself along.  Just as he reached the lip, he heard a crack, like rocks breaking.  He hazarded a quick glance back and saw that the explosions had created a small avalanche; dirt and ash and broken boulders tumbled down the hill, burying the radscorpions before they could pursue.

     Charon smiled in grim satisfaction and reloaded his shotgun, then slid down the hill and jogged on towards the Crater.

 

     James woke suddenly as something hot and wet laved across his face.  He jerked back and blinked, coming face to face with Dogmeat, who stood over him with a wide doggy grin, head cocked and tongue lolling.

     “Get off me, Dogbreath,” he groaned, wiping at his face.  Dogmeat wagged his tail and dove in for a second kiss.  James tried to push him away but the mutt was insistent, flopping over on top of him like smelly, seventy-pound blanket before licking at his face again.

     “Nora, I’m being molested,” James yelled, trying to shove Dogmeat off.

     “He’s awake,” Nora called absently from across the room, “Come on, boy.”

     Dogmeat woofed and lifted himself off James, shaking and trotting happily over to his mistress.  James pushed himself up wearily, sucking in a deep breath and rubbing the spot where one of the dog’s elbows had dug into his ribs.

     “You egged him on,” he accused as Nora lavished attention on Dogmeat.

     “I trained him,” she replied, “You know how hard it is to get Hancock out of bed some days?  Come one, we’ve got a park to clear.”

     “You need a toothbrush,” James told Dogmeat, forcing himself out of bed.  Nora grinned at the shepherd and patted his head reassuringly.

     “You’re a good boy,” she told him, kissing his face.  He licked her chin delicately, lovingly, and James scoffed in disgust. 

     “Let’s get going,” Nora replied, “I’m going to assume we’ll need to be fully armed.”

     James nodded and yanked his wrinkled shirt over his head. “Something blast-y,” he said, “Dry Rock Gulch is filled with bloodworms.”

     “The hell is a bloodworm?” Nora asked, frowning at him.

     “Something big and gross,” James answered, “Pops up out of the ground like a molerat, so they’re hard to snipe – I assume – and they’ll throw themselves at you to bite.”

     Nora wrinkled her nose but didn’t say anything, just cracked her shotgun to make sure it was loaded.  James nodded approvingly.

     “I’ve only encountered a few,” he said, “But a machete was fairly effective.”

     “Machetes tend to be effective on a lot of things.”

     James grinned and slid his into the belt at his waist. “I’m glad you understand.  Ready to go murder some worms?”

     “Lead the way.”

     They rode the elevator down together, Dogmeat between them.  Porter Gage was waiting at the bottom, leaned against the front doors of the restaurant with his arms crossed, cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth.

     “Boss,” he said as the elevator came to a jarring stop, “Heading out?”

     “Dry Rock Gulch.”

     “Want some help?”

     “I think we’ve got it covered,” James replied, “Tell the gangs to keep an eye out for the signal flag.”

     Gage nodded in acknowledgement.  Nora exchanged a look with James as they walked away.

     “Who are we giving the gulch to?”

     “I’m thinking the Operators,” he replied, “There’s a lot of good spots for sniping.  If MacCready comes, we could stick him in there and put him to good use.”

     “I can’t guarantee he’ll come,” Nora warned him, “Haylen’s about ready to pop…”

     “Then _you_ can get up there,” James answered, “Unless you happen to have other sniper friends?”

     “Mac’s the best, but we’ll figure it out.”

     “Not like we’ve got a whole lot of options otherwise,” James said, digging through one of the side pockets of his bag.  He pulled out a baggy of dried mutfruit and offered it to Nora.

     “Speaking of your friends,” he said, “Have you heard from Deacon?”

     Nora shook her head, looking away towards Nuka Galaxy as they made their way along the river. “Not a peep,” she said, “I assumed you guys who still have access to HQ had.”

     “Desdemona claims that she’s in contact with him,” James replied, “But I don’t know if she is or if she’s blowing smoke up our asses.  Only one other agent claims to have talked to him and she hasn’t been by HQ since shortly after you quit.”

     “Which one?”

     “Boxer.  Know her?”

     “I’ve seen her name on the board, but that’s it,” Nora replied with a sigh, “If he’s still making contact with Dez, then he’s alive and I just lost him in the divorce.”

     “You believe her?”

     “She and I might disagree on a lot of things, but I know she’s not a liar,” Nora said, “She’d tell me if something happened to him.”

     James glanced over at her, struck by the sadness he saw in her face.  Nora usually kept a pretty good poker face, her emotions lidded and only visible when she wanted them to be.  He knew she liked Deacon, knew they’d been good friends, but the depth of sadness he saw in her suggested that he’d underestimated how close they were.

     “Guess I fell for his lies,” she muttered bitterly.  James felt a pang of pity for her but didn’t say anything.  They walked in silence towards Dry Rock Gulch and by the time they’d made it to the entrance area, Nora seemed to have returned to her usual self.  James pulled out his machete and nodded for her to get her shotgun.

     “Make sure you stay behind me,” she said, “The last thing I want is to accidentally shoot a hole through your back.”

     “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not stupid,” James retorted, “Go ahead.  Ladies first.”

     He gestured toward the park with his machete and Nora scowled.  Shotgun hefted, she took the lead towards the park.  They were less than fifty feet from the ticket turnstiles when the dirt shifted and shuddered.  Nora stepped back and lifted her gun just as something long and squishy erupted out of the ground, hissing and flailing.

     Nora swore and fired.  The shot clipped the worm, but it just jerked back and hissed louder, revealing a round mouth filled with rows of tiny teeth like a leech.  She fired the second shot as the worm slithered towards her freakishly fast, but it missed.  Another bloodworm popped out of the dirt and Dogmeat launched himself at it, tearing into the squishy, insectoid body with a deep growl. 

     “Son of a bitch!” James yelled.  Nora looked back as he swung the machete, barely ducking in time to avoid the spray of sticky blood and body parts launched in her direction.  Dogmeat yelped in pain and shook off a bloodworm that had snapped at his flank as Nora reloaded her shotgun.  She fired the two rounds into it in quick succession, but the bloodworm just hissed angrily and dove back into the dirt.

     “They’re not dying!” she yelled as two more popped up and made a beeline for her, “James, you said they were --”

     “You have to take off their heads!” he shouted back over her gunshots.

     “They’re WORMS!” Nora bellowed, jumping onto a trashcan to avoid one gunning for her calves. “How the hell am I supposed to know which end is the head?!”

     “It’s the end with the teeth!” James snapped, swinging the machete through a third.  A chunk of flesh went spinning through the air and the body it had been attached to flailed and flopped into the dirt.  Nora gritted her teeth and slid two shells into her gun, trying to line up a shot as the bloodworms slithered away.  She squeezed the trigger and one of the worms exploded.  She shifted her aim and fired a second time, barely missing James as he darted in front of her and brought his machete down in a wide arc over the creature.

     Nora jumped down from her perch. “You idiot!” she yelled at James, “I told you _not_ to run in front of me!”

     “I didn’t run in front of you!”

     “That’s exactly what you did!” Nora shouted back, “It’s a good thing I was freaked out and missed, or at best, you’d be missing a fucking leg right now!”

     “Whatever you say, General,” he replied acidly, “Let’s just clear this place out, okay?”

     “I’m not dragging your sorry carcass back home if you do something like that again and I _don’t_ miss,” Nora said, “Fucking hell, James.”

     Dogmeat padded up and flopped into the dirt next to her, leaning on her leg heavily as he panted.  She knelt and examined the wound on his side.  It was bleeding, but not heavily; she opened a bottle of purified water and dribbled it over the bite, rinsing away blood and dirt.

     “These things aren’t venomous, are they?” she asked, eyeing the carcasses around them.  James shook his head and pushed up one sleeve to reveal the same kind of round bite wound, bruised but healing.

     “No, they’re just painful little fuckers.”

     “Should have used a stimpak on that,” Nora admonished as she used one of Dogmeat.  James shrugged.

     “I’m trying to be less of a wimp these days.”

     “Whatever you say,” Nora replied, “There’s going to be more inside, I’m guessing?”

     “They must have a nest or something nearby,” James said, gesturing with his machete as they passed through the old turnstiles. “What the hell was the Old West, anyway?”

     “The western frontier of America in the 1800s,” Nora explained, “Cowboys, outlaws, cattle drives, railroads…”

     “Cowboys?”

     Nora stared. “You’ve never heard of a cowboy?”

     “I don’t even know what a _cow_ is, Nora.”

     “A cow is what we called brahmin back in my day,” Nora answered with a sigh, “They had one head.  They were raised by the hundreds and thousands in these massive herds that traveled overland along the plains in the Midwest and west.  Cowboys rode horses and wrangled them.  Didn’t 101 have books?  _True Grit_?  _My Antonia_?”

    James didn’t answer, instead nudging her and pointing down the dirt road through the park.  Just past a half-collapsed rollercoaster, a Protectron wearing a cowboy hat lumbered towards them.  Nora lifted her shotgun but the Protectron didn’t seem to notice, stopping and waving jerkily with one arm.

     “Howdy, ya’ll,” it intoned in a stilted, mechanical voice, “Hope you’re having a good day here at Nuka World.  Ready to saddle up and ride into the old wild west?”

     “Uh…”

     “Are you in charge here?” James demanded as Nora stared uncertainly.

     “I’m Sheriff Hawk,” the Protectron droned, “Are you ready for some fun?”

     “You know anything about this infestation of bloodworms?” James asked, cocking an eyebrow. “They’re everywhere.”

     “James, it’s a _machine_ ,” Nora said, frowning. “Why are you…”

     “You must mean the no-good outlaws coming from _Mad Mulligan’s Mine,_ ” the Protectron replied, “Well, partner, if you’re interested in lending a hand, I could use a new deputy.  What do you say?”

     “For fuck’s sake,” Nora moaned in irritation as James burst into cackles of laughter, “Aren’t you good with robots, James?  Make this scrap metal more helpful.”

     James clutched his side as he laughed. “Oh, no, this is too good,” he replied, “ _Mad Mulligan’s Mine_?  What the fuck?”

     He continued to chortle as Nora sighed in irritation. “Okay, okay, okay, I’ll play along, but I get to be Sheriff Hawk,” he said, snatching the Protectron’s hat and cramming it onto his head. “It’s only fitting.  So, how do we get into the mine?”

     “The door to _Mad Mulligan’s Mine_ is locked up,” the Protectron replied, “I got a spare key in the safe by the theater, but wouldn’t you know it – I plum forgot the combination!”

     “So…”

     “You’ll have to talk to my three amigos – Doc Phosphate, One-Eyed Ike, and the Giddyup Kid,” the Protectron continued, “Prove to them you’re tough enough to take on the outlaws and they’ll give you their parts of the combination.”

     “I am _not_ doing some bullshit test to prove myself for a bunch of robots,” Nora said sharply as James gasped and dissolved into more laughter.

     “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he assured her, waving a hand. “I’ll get the combination.  After I go put on that stupid outfit over there.”

     He nodded to a cowhide outfit on a nearby animatronic and patted the Protectron reassuringly.  Nora sighed and followed as James moseyed over, still giggling to himself.

     “ _I plum forgot the combination_ ,” he repeated in a terribly dorky imitation of the robot’s voice, “Fucking-A, I’m gonna bust a gut.  What the fuck were you people on, Nora?”

     “This was a kid’s park,” Nora retorted, “And, may I remind you, you’re playing along.”

     “Only for this amazingly dumbass costume,” James replied, stopping to strip in the middle of the barnyard display. “Tell me more about the old wild west, sweetheart.  I need to hear more…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, dear readers!
> 
> Okay, sorry for the length between updates. I got that full-time teaching position I wanted, but...it meant starting from scratch with a new classroom, new age group, and predecessors who were slobs. Literal trash in my filing cabinets. Sigh. So my August has been a fun whirlwind of cleaning and meetings and lesson plans.
> 
> Updates will probably be slower than usual because I have less time to write, but I promise I won't forget you guys or make it too terribly long between chapters. Writing keeps me sane, after all.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	5. Making Plans

     It was a thoroughly boring walk back to Sanctuary Hills from Bradberton.  Hancock and Preston made most of the trip in comfortable silence, encountering little besides standard wasteland wildlife.  Somewhere between Sunshine Tidings and Abernathy Farm, a pair of ferals climbed out of the back of a burnt-out truck, but they were gone in two quick shots, simple enough they barely had to think about it.

     As they wound their way up the hill through Concord and towards the Red Rocket, Hancock felt Preston glance over at him and then away.

     “You’re going to need to go to Goodneighbor.”

     Hancock flicked away his stub of a cigarette and nodded curtly. “Yeah.”

     It wasn’t a question, a simple statement of fact.  A loaded one, Hancock knew – there was more Preston wanted to say, would have said if he had been Nora, but while the Minuteman had long treated Hancock as a friend and extension of Nora, he was never quite as demonstrative or open.  Maybe it was the fact that they were both men, maybe it was the ghoul thing, maybe simply the fact that they were two vastly different people with one common philosophy – whatever the reason, Hancock didn’t think about it too much.

     What mattered was that Garvey could be counted on. 

     “Nora told me her suspicions,” the Minutemen replied after a moment, “Lucy and I always have a close eye on Shaun and Anne.”

     Hancock nodded again and lit another cigarette, offering the pack to Preston.  They hung around in the shadow of the filling station for a few minutes, silent in a cloud of smoke as Hancock brooded to himself.  Just as he was taking a last drag, he looked up toward Sanctuary and saw a small figure plodding toward them, hands stuffed in his pockets and eyes downcast.  Hancock’s frown deepened as Shaun approached and looked up at them; his face was swollen and bruised, the obvious evidence of a recent fist fight.

     He shuffled up and looked between them with his brow furrowed. “Where’s Mom?”

     “Hello to you, too, kid,” Hancock replied, “Your mom’s fine; I’ll explain later.  I really hope the other guy looks even worse.”

     Shaun shrugged and looked away. “I have to give this to Miss Cait,” he said, holding up a folded note before walking away into the station.  Hancock stared after him, teeth gritted.

     “Think he got in a fight with Duncan or something?  Boy stuff?” Preston asked, also looking after Shaun with a worried frown.

     “Nah, the kid ain’t that scrappy,” Hancock answered, waiting until he saw Shaun leave the station and start back towards Sanctuary. “Shaun!”

     The boy stopped and turned back to them, a distinctively bored slump to his shoulders. “What?”

     Hancock held in his sharp reply and strode up to his stepson, taking his chin gently in hand to inspect the damage.  There was a long cut across his cheekbone, bruised and swollen, and his bottom lip had swelled noticeably.  No serious damage, but more than was normal for a boyish spat.

     “Ya’ alright?”

     “I’m fine,” Shaun replied, pulling away from him.

     “What happened?”

     “What does it matter?”

     “It matters that I asked you a question,” Hancock replied, forcing himself not to take the bait of Shaun’s attitude. “And I wanna know what my kids are getting up to while I’m gone.”

     Shaun scowled at him. “I got in a fight.”

     “With who and why?”

     “Quentin.  He called you and Grandpa zombies.”

     Hancock nodded. “That it?”

     “He called synths ‘it’.”

     “You give him a warning?”

     Shaun’s scowl devolved slightly into a confused frown. “I told him to stop it twice.”

     “Alright,” Hancock said, “Come on; I’ll explain what’s up with your mom.”

     He started towards the settlement, stopping a few feet down the road when he realized Shaun wasn’t following.

     “Ya’ comin’?”

     Shaun stared suspiciously. “That’s it?”

     “Were you lookin’ to be punished?”

     Shaun looked at the ground and then away into the distance before peeking back at Hancock. “No.”

     “Then what’s the problem?”

     Shaun shrugged and shifted. “Nothing – I – I thought you’d be mad.  Grandpa was.”

     Hancock refrained from informing him that George was an idiot. “You thought I’d be mad at you for defending your right to be a person?”

     Shaun’s look of confusion deepened. “I thought I was supposed to…I dunno.  Talk.  Or whatever.”

     “Always a good place to start,” Hancock replied, nodding loosely. “Sounds like you did try to talk.  That failed and you stood up for yourself.”

     “Oh.”              

     “Not that I want you goin’ around and pickin’ fights,” Hancock added, “But sometimes people only respond to a fist in the face.”

     _Or a knife to the liver,_ a voice in his head (that sounded suspiciously like his wife’s) added.  Shaun stared at him for a minute, as if trying to call his bluff, and then shuffled forward and ducked under Hancock’s arm.  Preston fell into step beside them as they walked back to the settlement.

     “Where did you guys go?” Shaun asked, “Is J.J. in trouble?”

     “It’s a long story,” Preston answered and Hancock grunted in agreement, “But he and your mom are doing okay.”

     “Is it raiders?”

     Preston gave him a rueful, tired smile. “It’s always raiders.”

 

     “You let her try to take out an army of raiders on her own?  Are you crazy?”

     Hancock stared ahead into the darkness, forcing himself to take a long, steadying drag off his cigarette before answering.  George stood there, staring back with those baleful, watery blue eyes, mouth drawn into a tight, disapproving line.

     “Let’s get a few things straight right now, Doyle,” Hancock replied, “First, the only reason I keep you around is for Shaun and Nora.  If you don’t like the way I do things, you can rot for all I fuckin’ care.”

     He could see the shock and anger on George’s face from the corner of his eye and exhaled heavily, finally glad to have let the words out after four long months.

     “Second, I didn’t ‘let’ Nora do a damned thing,” he continued, “She can make her own decisions.  When are you going to get that through your fucking head?”

     George’s look of anger deepened.  How the man had gotten to the age he was by responding to criticism that way was beyond Hancock.

     “She’s not invincible,” George snapped, “She can’t go off trying to save the whole world.”

     “No, she isn’t invincible,” Hancock agreed, “But she isn’t a fuckin’ coward, either.”

     He stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray and stuffed the pack into his coat pocket.  George stared, obviously furious.

     “You’re a dangerous influence on her,” he said, his tone low and angry. “You’re going to get her killed.”

     “Better she dies doin’ something worthwhile than bein’ afraid her whole life,” Hancock replied, standing from his seat. “Now, are you gonna help us out with these raiders or not?”

 

     “Why didn’t you tell me you had a bad ankle?” James asked, frowning at Nora as he gingerly eased her boot off her foot.  Nora hissed in pain and frowned back.

     “I broke it literally two hundred-odd years ago,” she replied, her voice strained. “I didn’t expect to have to jump off any rollercoasters today, so I assumed it wouldn’t be a problem.”

     “Doesn’t look broken,” James said, examining the joint.  It had swollen to twice its normal size, bruises spreading along the inside in deep purple striations.  He sat her foot in his lap and grabbed his bag, silently administering Med-X and a Stimpak before wrapping it securely with an improvised brace, a ripped Nuka Cola t-shirt found inside the Dry Rock Gulch gift shop. 

     “It’ll probably be fine by morning, but it’s a good excuse to stop by Dr. Bridgeman’s when we get back to Nuka Town,” he said as he tied off the brace and packed his medical kit away, “I can take another look at the slave collars the traders have.”

     “You have any idea how we’re going to get those things off them?”

     “Not yet,” James answered, pulling a wadded Operator flag out of his bag. “I think they’re controlled via radio frequencies.  Proximity countdowns and so on, so they can’t just up and walk out of Nuka Town.  Though someone could also hit a button and detonate them.”

     “So we have to shut down the radio frequencies, then.”

     “And hope that doesn’t set off a detonator automatically.”

     Nora shifted her position on the ground and pulled her sock back over her injured foot. “Which of the raiders do we think is capable of this sort of tech wizardry?”

     “Operators, probably,” James said as he tied their flag to the pole cable and began hoisting it, “Maybe the Disciples, but they don’t seem too interested in anything that doesn’t have sharp edges.”

     Nora grimaced and made a noise of agreement as Dogmeat padded up, chops wet with bloodworm viscera.  He sniffed her bad ankle, now propped up on her bag, and licked it reassuringly before flopping over to clean his paws.  James finished with the flag and heaved a heavy, satisfied sigh.

     “You got anything incriminating in your bag?”

     “Incriminating?”

     “Anything that’ll give you away if a raider looks through it?”

     Nora frowned at her bag and then up at James. “Not that I can think of.  Why?”

     “’Cause I gotta carry you back Nuka Town,” James replied, “Can’t do that and the bags.  Unless you were planning to hop home.”

     “I can walk,” Nora replied, her frown deepening. “It’s not that bad.”

     “You can hobble,” James retorted, “If you walk all that way on a bad ankle, you’re just going to undo the work the Stimpak has done and be useless tomorrow.  Come on.”

     He held out a hand to help her up.  Nora gave him a squinty-eyed scowl but acquiesced, allowing him to hoist her to one foot and then onto his back.

     “Damn, you weigh almost nothing,” James said, straightening as she looped her arms around his shoulders. “You’re tiny.”

     “Do I look otherwise?” Nora asked sharply.  James rolled his eyes.

     “Are you self-conscious?  In the wasteland?”

     “Two years in the post-apocalypse isn’t quite enough to undo thirty years of societal conditioning,” Nora replied, “Especially considering I was a dancer.  I was obsessed with my weight for a long time.”

     “Well, like I said, I’d tap it if you weren’t so damned annoying,” James said, sheathing his machete with one hand.  Nora sighed.

     “Giddy-up, Sheriff Hawk.  It’s getting dark.”

 

     “Definitely not broken,” Mackenzie Bridgeman reassured Nora, assessing her swollen ankle with keen brown eyes. “Probably sore as hell, I bet.  I can give you another dose of Med-X.”

     She reached into a drawer and Nora shook her head quickly. “No, I’ll be fine without it,” she said, “I don’t like taking too much of that stuff.”

     Mackenzie hesitated for a moment and then nodded knowingly. “Stay off it the rest of the night.  Use another Stimpak in the morning if it’s still swollen.”

     Nora nodded her understanding as Mackenzie shut the drawer and turned back to James.  He was staring intently at Harvey’s slave collar, squinting and muttering to himself as he studied the tiny detonator nestled menacingly against the man’s throat.

     “Learn anything useful?” Nora asked, patting Dogmeat reassuringly as he jumped up to sniff at her worriedly.

     “I’m fairly certain they’re controlled via radio frequencies,” James replied, rubbing his eyes. “All the parts I can see look right.  I really need a deactivated one to be certain, though.  Also, dude, you need to wash your neck.”

     “Clean water isn’t exactly plentiful around here,” Harvey complained, adjusting the collar as James stepped back from him. “You want me to find you a spare collar?”

     “Yes, and as quickly as possible.”

     “I’ll see what I can do.”

     “What you can do better be to find me a collar,” James snapped back, “You got me into this damn mess, you’re going to help me fix it.”

     “I said I was sorry,” Harvey replied, cringing like a chastised dog. “I was just doing my job.”

     “Which was to get people killed,” Nora interjected, joining James in scowling at the bruised, dirty wastelander. “Find him a collar or you’re going to be just as far up shit creek as the rest of us.”

     Harvey opened his mouth to reply but Mackenzie silenced him with a look. “Do whatever you have to, Harv,” she said, “This is our only chance.”

     Harvey sighed and nodded in understanding before standing and shuffling off.  James rubbed his eyes again and Nora noted the redness and bags.

     “We’re going to need electrical scrap,” he said, “Lots of it.  What d’you say we check out Nuka Galaxy tomorrow?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG AN UPDATE!
> 
> Yay! I hope, anyway. It has been one HELL of a start to the school year. Wowza. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed. More is coming soon, I promise. Also, if you want the occasional sneak peek, I share stuff sometimes on my tumblr, sociallyacceptablemadness . Also, I love to chat with fellow Fallout fans, writers, teachers, whoever, so hit me up if you ever feel like it.


	6. Raiders Everywhere

     James slid farther down into the ratty old chair by the window, stretching his legs on the coffee table and blowing a stream of smoke out through his nose.  He could see Nuka Town below, strings of bare bulbs glaring in the darkness as raiders prowled amongst the wreckage.  He rubbed his eyes and sighed.  Dogmeat lifted his head off his paws and stared at him in the darkness as Nora shifted slightly on the bed.

     He’d made a valiant effort to sleep, but any time he started to drift off, he felt Nora’s warm body next to him and inevitably, Sarah’s face swam in front of his vision like a Psycho hallucination.  After that, it was just a matter of time before he accidentally groped Nora in his sleep.  If she were anyone else, it wouldn’t have mattered all that much to him, but he liked her.  Respected her.

     James rubbed his eyes again, trying to rid them of the burning and tiredness, and stubbed his cigarette out in the cracked ashtray at his elbow.  Dogmeat whined as Nora shifted again, her movements jerky.

     “Nora?”

     Without warning, she sat upright with a muttered oath, eyes snapping wide and darting around the darkened restaurant like a trapped animal.  James straightened in his chair.

     “Are you okay?”

     “Did you hear a baby?”

     James frowned in confusion. “A baby?” he asked, “What are you talking about?”

     She whipped her head around, moving the pillows on the bed as if searching for something, then looked back at him and relaxed.  Her shoulders slumped and she put a hand over her eyes.

     “Shit,” she mumbled, “Sorry, I was…”

     “Hearing things?”

     She shook her head. “It’s this stupid dream I’ve been having,” she answered, “Not bad, just weird.  It’s nothing.  What time is it?”

     “Too fucking early,” James replied, “You can go back to sleep.”

     “Not a chance after that,” Nora said, scratching Dogmeat’s head.  James saw her glance back at his empty space on the bed and knew without asking that she missed her real husband.  He felt a niggle of irritation at that and shoved himself out of the chair.

     “My turn, then,” he said, collapsing onto the mattress heavily.  Dogmeat jumped away from him and Nora raised an eyebrow.

     “I didn’t realize we were taking turns.”

     “We’re literally _surrounded_ by raiders.”

     The shrewd eyebrow fell and James closed his eyes, one arm thrown over his face as he tried to be nonchalant.  He felt Nora watching him for a moment as he mentally berated himself for his idiocy.

     “Something wrong, James?”

     “Not at all.”

     There was a beat of silence and he felt certain she knew he was lying.  She didn’t say anything, however, and he felt the mattress shift as she stood.  He listened to her footsteps – soft and slow, probably still limping a bit – move around the diner before the elevator rattled and she was gone.

 

     Charon crouched behind a boulder, peering down into the crater with his binoculars, and sighed heavily.

     _Children._

He couldn’t remember the first time he’d ever encountered the Children of Atom weirdos, but he’d never liked them.  The ones in Megaton had plied him with enough pitying glances to last another two hundred years and he’d almost been torn apart by a glowing feral another group had kept in their basement.  They weren’t plentiful outside of the Capital and the few he and James had encountered in the Commonwealth were easily avoided.

     Didn’t seem like he’d be so lucky this time.  They’d built their shacks smack in the center of the crater, meaning he either had to walk past them or contend with the prowling deathclaws on the outer edges.  He put down the binoculars and glanced around one last time, then shouldered his weapon and began picking his way down the hill.

     The first Child he encountered was a young woman, her brown rags hanging loosely on her small frame.  She was settled on a ragged prayer mat outside one of the shacks, legs bent under her, hands lifted in supplication towards the opaque green sky.  As Charon approached, she let her hands fall and looked over at him.  She had a smattering of freckles across her nose and mousy hair that belied her age.  She squinted to look at him and smiled.  Charon flinched and froze.

     “Welcome.”  The girl bent her head in a strangely welcoming gesture.  “Do you need something from us?”

     “Just passing through.”

     Charon straightened and continued forward.  The girl nodded again, still giving him that odd smile.

     “Bask in His glow, Blessed One.”

     Charon faltered, boot slipping on a loose rock. “Excuse me?”  
     The girl, who had begun to lift her hands again, stopped and widened her eyes at him in confusion. “Yes?”

     He began to answer but stopped.  She was young; she had misspoken.  He had places to be and a cave to find.

     “Nothing.”

     He turned away and continued walking.

 

     “Don’t much care for his attitude, but the man has good taste in blades.”

     George didn’t reply as Lyssa bent contemplatively over Hancock’s knife roll.

     “You can give me the silent treatment all you want, old man, but I’m not going away.”

     He gave the knife one last swipe from his oily rag and slipped it back into place.  He avoided looking at her but he knew she was smirking at him.

     “You were always better just bashing heads in,” she continued, “Gonna bring your pipe?”

     “That piece of shit is sitting somewhere in Evergreen Mills,” George replied, tired of her yakking. “Besides, I’m not going to have fun.  I need to blend in.”

     “So everything we did was fun?”

     “No.”

     “Well, it sounded an awful lot like you thought so.”

     “You misheard me,” George said, scowling at her.  Lyssa’s smirk widened.  She’d always had that infuriating attitude, needling and nagging him endlessly, perpetually a smug teenager.

     “I don’t think I did, _Deimos._ ”

     “How many times do I have to tell you not to fucking call me that?”

     Lyssa rolled her eyes towards the ceiling and let her head fall back onto the chair. “Because _George_ is so scary and awe-inspiring.”

     “I was _George_ for almost three centuries.  Never had a problem.”

     “You were also a fucking pussy for almost three centuries.  You turned over a new leaf.  Time for a better name,” Lyssa replied, “Besides, it just _fits_.  The Greek god of terror, rising from Underworld to rid the wasteland of the assholes who dared to fuck him over.”

     “Deimos never actually appeared as a being in Greek mythology.  He was more a personification of terror than a god.”

     “Semantics,” Lyssa said, waving a hand. “Doesn’t matter.  It works.”

     “It’s over,” George answered, rolling up the knives and knotting the string. “Renee is gone and the Brotherhood is still in control.”

     “Too bad you couldn’t take a page out of Nora’s book.”

     George stopped and looked up at Lyssa.  She smiled, all cunning and conceit.

     “Since when do you like her?”

     “Have you _seen_ that crater?”

     George bit the inside of his lip. “That’s different.”

     “How so?” Lyssa scoffed, “A rival faction with different ideals than hers and she blew them sky-fucking-high.  Now she’s taking out a raider city.”

     George shook his head. “She’s looking out for people.  She’s not a selfish bitch like you.”

     “Right.”

     He stuffed the roll into his bag and closed it, moving on to disassemble his pistol for cleaning.

     “Oh, Deimos, don’t keep being such a coward.”

     “It’s not cowardly to want peace.”

     “You can have peace when you’re at the top.”

     “I’m happy where I’m at.”

     Lyssa looked away.  There was silence for a long time.

     “You remember how we couldn’t even give her a proper burial?”

     George gripped the handle of his pistol as a shot of anger surged through him. “Don’t.”

     “I’m stating facts.  They ripped her to fucking pieces, an old woman who did nothing wrong.”

     “We took care of them.”

     “They’re still out there,” Lyssa muttered, shaking her head slowly. “They’re going to come for you if you don’t make a stand and make it now.”  


     Shaun took a careful, silent step backwards, then turned and padded down the dark hallway towards his parents’ room.  The door was cracked open and he slipped inside.  Hancock had left his coat draped over the chair and his boots in a pile by the end of the bed; Shaun stepped over them and clambered onto the bed beside the sleeping ghoul.

     “Dad.”

     He poked his bare shoulder hard and Hancock grunted.

     “ _Dad._ ”

     Hancock jerked and opened his eyes. “Shaun?”

     “I need to ask you something.”

     He swiped at his face and pushed up on one elbow. “What’s wrong?  Are you okay?”

     “I’m fine, Dad.”

     Hancock stared at him for a moment. “Dad?”

     “Is that okay?”

     “I’m fine with it, but are you?”

     “You’re the only dad I know and you’re married to my mom,” Shaun replied in a no-nonsense tone reminiscent of Nora, “Are you going to be a raider?”

     “What?”

     “At Nuka World.”

     “Were you eavesdropping again?”

     “Are you going to be a raider?” Shaun repeated, “I need to know.”

     “No, I’m not,” Hancock answered, eyeing him. “Why do you _need_ to know?”

     Shaun hesitated. “I just needed to.”

     “So you woke me up in the middle of the night?”

     “You’re not going to be around Grandpa?”

     Hancock shifted and shook his head. “No, I’m not.”

     “He talks to himself.”

     “I know, kid.”

     Shaun deflated and lied down next to Hancock, staring up at the ceiling. “Are you sure Mom’s okay?”

     “I’m sure.”

     Shaun closed his eyes and let out a long breath.  His stomach twisted itself into knots as he took another breath, in and out through his nose.  Hancock moved next to him, bunching a pillow underneath his head and Shaun tried not to ask him again if his mom was alright.  All he could think about was his grandfather, cleaning his gun, staring at the empty spot on the chair with darkness in his face.

     “Get some sleep, Shaun.”

     Shaun nodded silently and closed his eyes.  He’d forgotten why he even got up in the first place but all he could think about was George.  George and his black expression, his eyes narrowed darkly.

     They never said what had happened to his Grandma.  How she had died.  What did the Brotherhood have to do with it?

     How would his Grandpa have fun with raiders?

     What was over?  Who was trying to convince him otherwise?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I might be physically incapable of writing something without at least a little angst.


	7. Work Together

     James stared straight ahead as he walked, eyes fixed on Nuka-Galaxy looming over them with its broken rocket ships stretching towards the sky.  He could feel Nora watching him.

     "So," she said as they crossed the bridge towards the park, "Electrical scrap?"

     James glanced over and then away quickly, unable to hold her shrewd gray gaze for long.

     "Yes."

     "What for?"

     "The collars."

     "Right."

     "I'm not lying."

     Nora caught his eye, hers widened innocently. "I didn't think you were."

     "Then what was that about?"

     "What was what about?"

     "'Right'," James replied, frowning. "With the...the attitude."

     He could see a bemused smile playing at her lips. "Attitude?"

     "Yes, attitude," James said, sighing in frustration. "I told you I would be honest with you and I am."

     "Okay," Nora answered simply, shrugging. "I believe you."

     James stopped short and turned to her.  She lifted an eyebrow in that infuriating way she did but said nothing.

     "You've been watching me all morning."

     "James, I have no idea what you're talking about."

     He gritted his teeth. "Nora, cut the shit."

     "God's honest truth, James," she replied, lifting her palms in supplication. "You're the one acting weird.  Something on your mind?"

     "No," he said, rubbing his hands over his face. "I'm fine."

     "Not, maybe, regretting this fake marriage thing?"

     He peeked at her between his fingers and groaned. "Are you fucking with me?"

     She smiled and patted his shoulder. "I told you, I know people," she said, "Not to mention, you're pretty obvious when you're flustered."

     "Am not."

     "The last Railroad agent I spent this much time with was a compulsive liar, so compared to him, you are," Nora retorted gently, "What's wrong?"

     James looked away and started walking.  He couldn't, _wouldn't_ fuck up the first decent relationship he'd had with someone in a decade by burdening her with his inability to separate fantasy from reality, his need to project onto someone to feel a little less alone.

     "Is this about Sarah?"

     And he _definitely_ wasn't going to embarrass himself by crying like a fucking child, he was a _grown-ass man_ \--

     "Hey, James, hey --"

     He braced himself on the rusty iron railing, knuckles white from gripping it as he blinked away the wet burning in his eyes.  Nora wrapped her arms around him in a weird hug, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head and forcing his face onto her shoulder.  He froze for a moment but she didn't let go and he felt himself relax into it.  They stood there like that for several long minutes, open and exposed.

     "What the fuck are we doing, Nora?"

     "I'm hugging you."

     "Why?"

     She let go and stepped back, looking at him as if he were insane. "Why else?  You needed a hug."

     "I did not."

     "Then I wanted one from you."

     "Why?"

     "Because you're my friend.  And I suspect Gage is following us or something.  Gotta make it look good."

     James straightened and sniffed, trying to regain some semblance of his masculinity.  Nora took another step back, giving him the space to breathe.

     "How did she die?"

     James blew out a heavy breath. "Super Mutants.  We got trapped in downtown D.C."

     He saw Nora nod silently from the corner of his eye.  Sarah flashed in his mind, thrown backwards into the wall of rubble by a mutant sledgehammer, and he swiped at his face.

     "We need to keep going."

     Nora gave him an agreeing smile. "What can we expect from Nuka Galaxy?"

     "Killer robots."

     "Oh," Nora deadpanned, "Is that all?"

     "There's a model vault, I think," James continued, "And we gotta find the Star Cores."

     "The what now?"

     As they walked, James slung his bag around and unzipped it, pulling out what looked like a glowing red circuit board about the size of a textbook.  He handed it to Nora and she frowned.

     "You're the tech whiz."

     "It's really cool prewar technology," he explained, "Kind of like a cross between a fusion core and a motherboard.  If I can find all the missing ones and plug them back in to the mainframe at the center of the park, I can turn on some of the power."

     "Which will do what for us?"

     James rolled his eyes. "Do I really have to spell it out for you?"

     "Yes, you do.  Not to make myself sound like an idiot, but if the plan involves something more complex than shooting bullets or throwing grenades, it's lost on me."

     "Killer.  Robots," James said, enunciating slowly. "These star cores will restore some of the power to Nuka Galaxy and give me access to the mainframe.  From there, I can control the robots."

     Nora nodded. "And set them on whatever gang we put here?"

     James snapped his fingers and grinned. "Now you're getting me."

     "I kind of like the idea," Nora replied, "But there's one problem."

     "There isn't a problem," James answered, looking mildly offended. "What problem could--"

     At that moment, Nora shoved him roughly to the side.  He fell, landing in a confused heap behind collapsed sign.  He heard a sizzling _splash_ , like water droplets falling in hot oil, and Nora swore in his ear.

     "The problem, _James_ ," she spat at him, slinging her shotgun off her shoulder. "Is that these are _prewar_ killer robots – so they're programmed to kill anyone and everyone they see – shit!"

     She vaulted over him as a blob of sizzling blue goo sailed past and landed behind them, splattering in all directions.  Several burning droplets landed on James's pants, burning through the worn fabric in seconds and scorching the skin underneath as his Pip-Boy's Geiger counter began clicking wildly.

     "Is this _Nuka Cola_?" Nora screeched, " _Radioactive Nuka Cola?_   I thought you scouted these parks!"

     "I did!" James yelled back over a blast from Nora's shotgun, "I didn't get close enough to know they were going to start shooting cola grenades!  This is your fault!"

     "How is it _my_ fault?!"

     James fumbled for the revolver at his side and aimed it, taking a shot at the garish red Protectron approaching them.  It stumbled backward a step as the bullet pinged it in the shoulder, but kept coming.

     "You're prewar!" He shouted at Nora, squeezing off another shot. "Your people built this shit!"

     "My _people_?" Nora spat, shoving him aside and aiming her shotgun again. "I was a _prosecutor_ , thank you very much _,_ I didn't even know this damned park _existed –_ watch it!"

     They ducked together as the Protectron blasted another glob of radioactive soda at them.  James gripped his gun with both hands, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

     "Okay, I fucked up," he managed as Nora pulled two more shells from her pants pocket and loaded them into her shotgun.  She spared him a withering glance and snapped her gun back together.

     "Do you have your EMP thingy?"

     "Yes, but I'm not using it on these robots."

     "Why the hell not?"

     "An EMP will fry their processors," he answered, "They'll be useless."

     "Well, I doubt a shotgun blast is going to do them much good, either!" 

     She leaned out from their makeshift shelter and fired two quick shots.  James groaned as he heard a mechanical sizzle and the crunch of metal collapsing on concrete.  Nora let out a relieved breath and let her shotgun drop.

     "I can make them functional if it's just bullet holes," James explained, filling the sudden silence. "If you screw up the processors, it could take me weeks to get the materials to rebuild and reprogram them."

     "Next time, tell me that ahead of time so we can plan accordingly," Nora snapped.

     "Are you expecting there to be a next time?"

     "With you, I'm prepared for the worst."

     James bit back a retort. "I don't know how many more are inside," he said, "But Star Command is a straight shot ahead."

     He pointed towards the entrance of the park, which had been fortified with old fence panels and scrap metal, as if someone had attempted to make a settlement out of it.

     "Star Command?"

     "Where we can plug in all the Star Cores," James said, "There's thirty-five total.  I need at least twenty to get to the robot controls."

     "How many do you have?"

     "Two."

     Nora gave him a look, like she was struggling not to scowl. "Where are the other eighteen?"

     "Here, there, everywhere.  Scattered, probably by scavvers."

     Nora lifted her eyes skyward and sighed. "So, are we sprinting or can you do this stealth?"

     "Stealth.  I can guarantee we're not fast enough to get past these buggers."

     Nora nodded and slung her shotgun back over her shoulder, barrel pointing towards the ground, and unholstered the pistol at her hip.  With a nod and a jerk of her head, she led the way into the park, half-crouched and skirting the walls closely.  James followed, scanning the walkways and open spaces ahead.  They had barely made it a hundred feet in when he stopped and grabbed Nora's arm.

     "What?" she mouthed at him.  He pointed towards another collapsed Protectron a few yards away.  Nora studied it for a moment, brow furrowed.

     "Not you."

     James shook his head.  The holes in the Protectron's chassis were warped and charred, signs of a laser weapon.

     "Maybe it's old."

     "There's no rust," James muttered back, "And I'm pretty sure it wasn't there when I came through last.  That's new."

     Nora bit her lip and stared at the Protectron. "Gunners, maybe?  They usually use energy weapons."

     "Maybe," James replied, "Should we turn back?"

     "Let's see what we can see, first.  Is that Star Command?"

     She jerked her chin at the round glass building in the center of the park, just up an elevated walkway, and James nodded.  They continued moving, tiptoeing around piles of junk as fast as they could without making noise.  James followed dutifully behind Nora, a gnawing feeling of unease growing in his stomach as they crept closer to Star Command.  Something wasn’t right, something was here and it wasn’t Gunners –

     He barely registered the flash of blue light out of the corner of his eye before the searing pain, like a hot knife, ripped across his leg.  The limb buckled underneath him and he yelled in pain, grabbing for the injury as pain danced up and down his thigh.  His old fatigue pants were burnt, a perfectly round hole charred through the fabric to his skin.

     “Get up, run!” Nora yelled at him, grabbing his shirt and hauling him forward. “Come on!”

     He stumbled up, dragging his leg and hobbling towards Star Command.  He heard Nora’s gun go off three times, the shots echoing eerily around the old metal buildings.  She swore and pushed him forward, firing three more times.  Flashes of blue zipped past them, bouncing off walls and cola machines, barely missing James as he slammed on the button to open the door to Star Command before throwing himself inside.

     He rolled over with a groan, propped up on his elbows, and searched around for Nora.  She was standing just outside of Star Command, pistol holstered and her shotgun still over her shoulder, hands up in a sign of surrender.  What the hell was she doing?

     “We both know you weren’t trying to kill me or my friend,” she yelled at nothing, head tilted as she searched the roofs and walkways above. “Your aim is better than that.”

     “Nora, what the hell?”

     She gave him an impatient wave. “Come on out,” she yelled into the silence, “My weapons are holstered.”

     “Nora, have you lost your fucking mind--”

     Before she could respond, a black-coated figure dropped from the walkway above Star Command, appearing as suddenly as if he had materialized there.  He landed with ease, knees bending into the impact, heavy coat billowing around him.  Nora turned to face him and her eyes widened.

     “Well, shit,” she said, “Long time, no see.”

     “Were you expecting someone else?” their assailant responded in a deadpan tone, the barest hint of disdain in his voice.  James pushed himself into a sitting position, trying not to panic as the Courser took a step closer to Nora.

     “I wasn’t expecting _anyone_ ,” she said, “What are you doing here, X6?”

     The Courser turned and looked at James.  His face was impassive, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.  James glared back as his leg continued to throb.

     “I was tracking a caravan,” he said, turning back to Nora. “Rumor had it that a railroad agent and several escaped synths were heading west past this place.”

     “They’re not really escaped anymore,” Nora replied, “Gotta kind of have a place to escape from, and currently, what’s left of the Institute is living in Sanctuary.”

     “I am aware,” the Courser replied, “Except for one.”

     Nora nodded slowly. “So what was this all about?” she asked, jerking her head at James. “You could have killed us both without so much as a second glance.”

     The Courser was silent for a moment. “Target practice.”

     “Did he teach you to be an asshole, or is it just something inherent in your DNA?” Nora asked with a sigh, “Because I’m probably to blame for that, too.”

     “Can someone please explain what the hell is going on?” James demanded, trying to stand and failing miserably.  He settled for leaning on the wall, sweating through the pain that had spread into his hip and lower back.

     “This, James, is X6-88,” Nora said, stepping past the Courser and letting him rest some of his weight on her shoulder. “An Institute Courser I worked with for a brief period back in the day.”

     “You worked with a Courser?”

     “Briefly,” X6-88 replied, “One minor mission during which you did not follow orders.”

     “Well, last I checked, I was the mother and I never agreed to take orders from him, anyway,” Nora snapped, her voice suddenly venomous. “What’re you doing here? Why aren’t you out tracking your escaped synths?”

     “The trail was lost around this area,” X6-88 answered tonelessly, “I believe that, if any are alive, they have been enslaved by the raider gangs in the area.”

     Nora shook her head and helped James limp to the Star Command consoles, parking him in a dusty old chair. 

     “It’s neurological,” she said, pulling at the burn hole in his pant leg. “Very little tissue damage.”

     “It will wear off within eight to twelve hours,” X6-88 added dismissively.  James gave him a dark look.

     “Lucky fucking me.”

     Nora bent down, pulling a syringe of Med-X from his bag and uncapping it. “I’m not technically Railroad anymore, X6,” she said, uncapping the needle and jabbing it into James’s thigh. “So here’s what’s going to happen.”

     “Excuse me, ma’am?”

     She looked over at him. “The Institute doesn’t exist anymore,” she said, “So either you and I are now enemies and we can put some bullets in each other’s skulls.   _Or_ , we can work together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, 13-year-olds are insane. And I am insane for teaching them. And I'm getting two more added to my class tomorrow.
> 
> FUN.
> 
> I wrote this chapter in two and three sentence bites in between lessons and while my kids were taking tests. Enjoy the fruits of what I did instead of grading.


	8. A Terrible Plan

     "Ma'am, I would just like to make it known that I feel this is a terrible plan." 

     "Oh, quit your bitching," Nora sighed, not looking up from her work, slicing through the leather armor spread out in front of her with her switchblade. "No, it isn't perfect, but it'll have to do."

     "It's convoluted and overly complex."

     "It's the plan we've got and we're _sticking with it_ ," Nora practically growled.  She sat back on her heels and surveyed the cutting, then looked up at X6 and eyeballed him for a moment.

     "Strip." 

     "Excuse me?"

     "You heard me."

     "Why?"

     "What'd you think I was making, a patchwork quilt?" Nora replied in exasperation with a gesture at the leather pieces in front of her.

     "Don't you actually make those?" James asked, looking up from his scrapping to squint at her.

     "Yes, I do, but that's not the point," she said, "Look, X6, you can't go strolling into Nuka Town with that uniform – it screams 'Courser' at the top of its lungs."

     "That was, essentially, the original intention," X6-88 replied with a hint of a haughty sniff in his usually toneless voice.

     "And how the hell do you plan to blend in that way?" Nora demanded, "Take the fucking thing off or I will take it off for you.  James, give him your spare set to put under this armor."

     "He shot me, but I have to forfeit my clothes for him?"

     "I'll let you wear the sheriff costume instead."

     A muscle worked in James's jaw as he clenched it, but after a moment's hesitation, he sat the Star Core he'd been working on aside and began tearing through his bag.  He grabbed the denim and leather jacket at the bottom and threw it in X6's direction with an indignant huff.

     "Wash 'em before you return 'em." 

     X6-88 picked up the clothes and examined them. "This fabric is not up to the rigors of proper laundering."

     "The what of what?"

     "It's filthy." 

     "Then shove it up your ass and go naked for all I care, _Courser_ ," James snapped, slamming his tools onto the table. "You have the gall to use me as _target practice --_ "

     "Shut it!" Nora interrupted just as X6 looked ready to respond, "For fuck's sake, James, grow a damned pair and ignore him.  X6-88, kindergarten rules, okay?  If you can't say something nice, then don't say anything at all!"

     She shook her head and bent back over her armor-sewing as X6 did as he'd been told and began to strip out of his Courser uniform.  James scoffed in disgust and turned away, his ancient chair creaking as it whirled around.  Nora picked up the pieces of armor she had begun to alter, fitting them over X6's new duds and adjusting as she muttered to herself.  James watched out of the corner of his eye but refused to turn around fully.

     "You are quite skilled at this, ma'am," X6 said as Nora stood and laced up the chest piece she'd let out for him.  She gave a noncommittal grunt.

     "My grandmother taught me how to sew when I was little," she said, "I started with dolly dresses and prom gowns and graduated to leather armor when I didn't have need of either anymore."

     X6 didn't seem to know how to respond to this, so settled for avoiding her eyes and staring at the wall.  After fifteen minutes of silence between the two men, filled with muttering and the occasional swear from Nora, she snipped off the last thread and stepped back to admire her handiwork.

     "There.  Now you look like a Wastelander."

     "Yeah, you'll fit right in with the rest of the assholes in Nuka-Town," James chimed in, fiddling with his Star Core.  Nora shot him a look but didn't say anything.

     "What method should I use to best ingratiate myself with the raider factions, ma'am?"

     "Well, first of all, you need to start talking like a person, not a dictionary," Nora replied, "If you can't do that, just try not to speak at all."

     "Go to Nisha, with the Disciples," James said, looking up from his work. "You'll fit in there.  They'll give you plenty of target practice."

     Nora bit the tip of her tongue and counted to ten before saying anything else. "Don't push it, X6," she said, "If you can't slip in and get me information easily and inconspicuously, abort mission and get the hell out."

     "What is my fallback position, ma'am?"

     "Bradberton," Nora replied, "Preston and a few others will be there in a few days.  Just...try not to spook them, okay?  None of that dropping from the ceiling shit you did to us."

     X6 stared impassively for a moment before nodding. "Yes, ma'am."

     Without another word, he turned and left Star Control, disappearing into the abandoned theme park on silent footsteps.  James looked over at Nora as he continued poking at his Star Core.

     "You know, as much as I hate to agree with him, this plan is getting pretty complicated," he said, "Lot of variables to manage."

     "You got a better idea?" Nora shot back.  James shrugged.

     "Not the foggiest," he said, "Just sayin'."

     "Better to have a lot of pieces under your control than to have a bunch of loose cannons on the board," Nora answered, sitting down next to him.

     "You shouldn't mix metaphors; it sounds weird."

     "And you shouldn't go wandering into random theme parks; it never ends well," Nora said, poking him in the shoulder. "Twelve years out of the Vault and you don't know that yet?"

     "Why do you think I bought Charon's contract?" James answered, "I know I can't be trusted alone.  But hey, it _was_ a couple months before I walked into real danger."

     Nora shook her head in defeat. "That's why I told him to stick with you.  Why'd you dump him at the Castle?"

     "I didn't dump him anywhere," James answered, "I just left and forgot to leave a note."

     "I did that with Hancock once," Nora said, "When I was in a bad headspace about our relationship.  Are you _sure_ you're not in love with him?"

     "Am I in love with the seven-foot-tall, 200-year-old ghoul who probably hates my guts for how many times I've gotten him shot and stabbed?" James replied with a scoff, "Not hardly."

     Nora grinned. "The lady doth protest too much, methinks."

     "Points for quoting _Hamlet_ correctly, but no, I'm not," James said, "If I had to put a label on our relationship, it would be...asshole older brother."

     "You should have brought him with you," Nora continued, "He'd be useful.  And I'm sure he'd have a much better time here than wandering around the Castle by himself."

     Charon swore into the void of the Glowing Sea as the deathclaw swung again, claws missing his chest by millimeters.  He fired his shotgun at its chest but the creature's thick hide shook the pellets off like pebbles.  Another swipe and the gun went flying from his hands, skittering across the rocky ground out of his reach.  Charon ducked and rolled under the deathclaw as it roared in anger, whipping around to snatch at him with impressive speed for a creature its size.  Charon righted himself, yanking the long knife from his thigh holster.  The deathclaw dove for him, oblivious of the blade, and Charon lunged, plunging it into the animal's soft underbelly.

     The deathclaw screamed and jerked back, scrabbling as the wound spurted viscous black goo.

     "Ah, what's the matter, can't stand the sight of your own blood?" Charon taunted, chest heaving as he sucked in air. "Come and get me, you big dumb iguana!"

     The deathclaw stomped forward and swung, noticeably weaker and less coordinated.  Charon whirled away easily, stabbing again.  The blade slid in between scales, though it didn't go as deep this time.  The deathclaw roared furiously, lurching toward Charon.  Its steely claws caught Charon's arm, ripping through armor and clothing and into the flesh, sending him reeling backward.  He swung the knife a third time, sticking it into the creature's shoulder.  It wailed and pitched forward, slumping into the dirt with a finality that Charon could only smile grimly at, holding his torn arm to his chest as blood soaked through his shirt.

     "Good riddance," he muttered, turning and grabbing his gun out of the dirt nearby before he limped on towards Virgil's cave.

     Once Nora Wilson had returned with the serum from the Institute and he stopped hearing the classical music on the radio, Virgil fully expected to live out the rest of his days in his cave without company.  Every few weeks, a Child of Atom left foodstuffs and other random supplies just inside his cave, but they never stopped to say hello or anything.  For a while, he half-expected a Courser to show up and blow him away, but almost two years after Nora and her odd ghoul companion first appeared, asking how to get into the Institute, nothing had happened.

     So he languished in the cave, trapped by the radiation after healing himself of FEV, conducting pointless experiments and recording useless data, waiting to die when a radscorpion or a feral ghoul wandered in or the Children stopped bringing supplies.

     What he hadn't expected was for a massive non-feral to stomp in, bleeding and battered like he'd just gone ten rounds with a Deathclaw, throw himself onto an empty chair, and then make a monotone announcement:

     "General Wilson would like to extend an invitation for you to join the Institute refugees in Sanctuary Hills."

     Virgil stood there, holding a test tube in one hand, his other hanging dumbly at his side, and blinked once.

     "What?" he asked stupidly.  The ghoul scowled at him and repeated the message.

     Virgil blinked again and set the test tube down. "What do you mean, Institute refugees?"

     The ghoul sighed in obvious annoyance as he yanked off his bits of bloody armor and dropped them unceremoniously at his feet.  Four long gashes raked across his arm and part of his chest, sticky with half-dried blood and dirt.

     "The Institute safehouse was compromised due to internal problems," he replied, "The survivors are now living in Sanctuary.  General Wilson has offered you a place among them."

     "Are they...free?" Virgil asked, trying and failing to not stare at this strange, massive ghoul as he began ripping off the shirt underneath his armor, pulling at the clotted lacerations so that they began bleeding fresh.

     "General Wilson is not a slaver."

     He said it with such a tone of finality and assurance that Virgil couldn't help but feel shamed for even asking.  He cleared his throat as his cheeks burned like a chastised school boy's.

     "How do you propose I get to Sanctuary Hills?"

     "I've brought provisions," the ghoul replied, though he didn't elaborate.  Virgil nodded.

     "And who are you?" 

     "My name is Charon," the ghoul answered, "I am an employee of General Wilson's."

     Virgil frowned. "An employee?  In what capacity?"

     "A capacity that is none of your business," Charon snapped back, dabbing at his wounds with a dirty cloth he pulled from his pants pocket. "I am authorized to escort you to Sanctuary Hills and assist in your integration there."

     Virgil took a tiny step back. "Oh."

     He watched as Charon dropped the bloody cloth to unscrew the cap of his canteen and began pouring the water out over his wounds slowly.  The water seemed to steam as it crawled down his arm, tiny tendrils lifting off the flesh as it began to slowly knit together.  Fascinated despite his revulsion to ghoulism, Virgil took a few steps forward and peered at the wounds.

     "Is that...irradiated water?"

     "Yes," Charon replied testily, not looking at him.  The bleeding stopped as the blood washed away, the skin stretched shiny and pink like a new scar, though not fully closed.

     "That's fascinating," Virgil replied, "It works just like a stimpak – though I think you need stitches --"

     "I'll manage," Charon interrupted, "Are you ready to leave?"

     Virgil straightened and looked around.  There was nothing in his cave of any value, though he supposed he should at least take a holotape or two of data, for posterity.  Had he actually decided to go?

     "Um," he cleared his throat again and shook his head, "I need an hour."

     "An hour, then," Charon answered, looking irritated. "Bring only what you can carry."

     Virgil nodded obediently and set about puttering around the cave, trying to look like he was being considerate of what to pack and what not to pack.  In truth, he was simply eager to get out of the cave, to see something besides the same dusty rock walls he'd looked at for two years, to find out what had happened to his friends and colleagues.  Something whispered in the back of his mind that this could be a trap, that, after she inevitably destroyed the Institute, Nora Wilson wouldn't have wanted anything to do with him or any other refugees, but he ignored it.

     Couldn't really get any worse than being trapped in a tiny cave in the middle of an irradiated hellhole.  If he was going to die, might as well do it where someone would be there to see it, maybe bury him.

     "There's an anti-radiation suit in my bag," Charon informed him, "It and a double-dose of Rad-X should protect you if we move quickly.  Do you know the signs of radiation poisoning?"

     Virgil nodded and Charon seemed satisfied for the first time since he'd stepped foot inside the cave.

     "Tell me if you experience symptoms.  Let's go."

     Virgil fitted the anti-radiation mask over his head and nodded again.  Charon, dressed and armored again, unholstered a battered shotgun from his back and lead the way out of the cave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Mushu voice* I LIIIIIIIIIIVE!
> 
> I promise I didn't forget you guys! Life almost went off the rails for a while and it took me forever to write the first half of this chapter, much less finish it.
> 
> I will, however, have more chapters soon and lots of extra one-shots ;-) ;-) Enjoy!


	9. Assemble the Pieces

     "Probably best to go in the back way," James said as they approached the Robco Battlezone, "Supply and maintenance records show it was packed with Protectrons and other fun friends."

     "You don't think anyone's been in there to clear them out?"

     "I think the only one besides us to make it any farther than Star Command since 2077 is your Courser friend," James replied, "So we can probably expect a friendly greeting like we did at the entrance."

     "And we do what, shoot them into submission?" 

     "Isn't that what you always do?" 

     Nora gave him a look. "Let's just be quick about it, okay?  We wasted half the day with X6."

     "What was this place, anyway?" James asked as they rounded the edge of the building and began trekking down a back alley. "Robco Battlezone?  Did people fight the robots or something?"

     "Contrary to popular belief, we weren't all certifiably insane pre-2077," Nora answered, "No, the robots battled each other.  The people watched.  It was just a thing to see who could design and build the toughest bot."

     James stopped dead and goggled at her in amazement. "They pitted the bots against each other?  As a sport?" 

     Nora nodded. "My first husband's younger brother was into it," she said, "All kinds of mechanical stuff, really.  Cars, robots, you name it.  I always had to remind him that Codsworth was off limits."

     "Holy shit," James breathed, "Why have I never heard about this sort of thing before?  It sounds fucking awesome."

     "Whatever floats your boat." 

     "Your brother-in-law did these sorts of competitions?"

     "Before the DIA forced him to be productive," Nora replied, "Don't go getting any ideas--"

     "Too late," James interrupted, grinning madly. "As soon as we get out of here – me and Shaun.  We're going to loot the absolute shit out of that scrapyard on the other side of the lake, and I'm going to stick some sentry bot guns on an assaultron's legs --"

     "We'll discuss your Christmas wish list when we're done here," Nora said, reaching for the handle on the back entrance. "Focus, please?"

     James nodded, still grinning, as Nora lifted her handgun and pulled the door open slowly.  It creaked and wailed on rusty hinges, a dirty, musty smell wafting out to greet them.  Nora wrinkled her nose and peered around the door into the darkness of the Battlezone basement.

     Inside was still as a tomb.  James stepped forward past Nora, gripping his revolver, and glanced around curiously.  When nothing responded to their presence, he beckoned Nora in after him.  She slid inside quietly, eyes adjusting to the dark.  James was crouched over the carcass of a battered Protectron nearby.

     "Well, shit," he said, standing and kicking it once.  The dull thud echoed around the room eerily.

     "What's wrong?" 

     "Someone has been here before us," James replied, gesturing vaguely. "And they used pulse grenades, fried the fuck out of this poor thing." 

     Nora looked around and nodded.  Someone had been here, judging by the footprints in the dust and a few splatters of blood along them.

     "Well, you strip that 'poor thing' for parts while I take a look around," she said, "See what we've got to work with."

     James sighed in response, toeing the Protectron again. "Why don't people just use bullets."

     Nora walked away with an eye roll, leaving him sitting there in the cool darkness by himself.  There wasn't going to be much salvageable on this Protectron, nothing he was up to hauling all the way back to Nuka Town by himself, anyway.  As Nora's footsteps faded away, he let his pack drop to the floor and took to kicking through the dust and debris, looking idly for any other useful scrap.  After finding nothing, he glanced down at the footprints and blood on the floor.  

     He was no detective, but it looked like there had been two people.  Aimlessly, unsure of what else to do, he followed the trail, around a corner and past a second dead Protectron, to an empty supply closet.

     The closet wasn't big, maybe six-by-six, but a moldy bedroll had been thrown into the corner.  The blood splatters led straight to it, a black stain marring the old fabric.  There were two spent Stimpaks in the corner next to an empty canteen and an abandoned knapsack.  James knelt down and picked up the pack to rummage through it in case there was anything useful inside.  A half-empty box of Blamco Mac n' Cheese and another spent syringe.

     "Anything good?"

     James jumped as his heart soared into his throat, falling forward.  He caught himself before face-planting, left hand crunching on something plastic.  

     "Shit," he whined, picking bits of the broken sunglasses out of his palm. "No, nothing good.  What's the story upstairs?"

     "Looks like whoever was here shut off all the other robots via terminal, so you should be able to reactivate them no problem," Nora said, offering a hand to help him up. "There's a sentry bot in storage."

     James's eyes lit up. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

     Quentin grasped the carrot top and pulled, the feathery green fronds dragging into his skin.  The stubborn vegetable barely budged.

     "Dammit," he muttered, yanking at it again, harder this time. 

     "Quentin," his mother called sharply from her spot nearby at a tato cage.  Quentin scowled into the dirt but didn't reply.  He grabbed the carrot top with both hands and pulled, but the fronds just ripped away, sending him sprawling onto his butt in the dirt.  He heard his mother sigh.

     "Why don't you take a break, get some water?" she said, giving him a tired smile. "It's getting pretty hot."

     Quentin scowled at her but stood, brushing his raw palms off on his pants before grabbing the rusty water bucket and stomping off.  She was trying to get rid of him, same as always.  Get him out of her hair so she could work.

     The only pump in Sanctuary he could ever get to work was the one outside the common house, the one people used often enough that it got oiled regularly.  He plunked the bucket down and began working the handle, the muscles in his shoulders burning.

     "...why doesn't _your_ dad teach you?"

     "He does sometimes, but Mom says he's sloppy.  She wants me to learn to be safe or something." 

     Quentin froze, water sloshing loudly into his bucket before draining away to a trickle.  Shaun and Duncan approached, stopping short when they saw him.  Duncan hesitated a moment, then waved merrily.

     "Hey, Quentin," he said, "You wanna come with us?" 

     Shaun glared daggers at the younger boy but didn't say anything.  Quentin eyed him warily. 

     "Where are you going?"

     "The range out back," Duncan said, "My dad teaches us to shoot.  And sometimes Mr. Danse.  It's a lot of fun."

     Quentin looked at Shaun, who was avoiding his gaze, and then back toward the house he stayed in with his mother and Mr. Oberly.  Shaun wouldn't hit him with other adults around, and shooting lessons sounded a lot more fun than harvesting carrots.

     "Yeah, okay."

     Duncan's eyes lit up. "You're the same age as Shaun, right?" he asked, "That means you're old enough to have your own gun.  Ten, that's what my dad and Aunt Nora said."

     Quentin nodded as Shaun led the way silently out of the settlement, down a dirt path north towards the woods.  Duncan continued chattering about everything and nothing, barely pausing for breath, but Shaun remained silent until they got into the woods.  After a few steps along the path, he stopped suddenly and shushed Duncan.

     "What?"

     "We're early," Shaun whispered, glancing at an old watch on his wrist. "They're still having the meeting."

     "What meeting?" Quentin asked.  Shaun responded with a curt shushing motion and dropped to a crouch, scrambling off the path and over a rock outcropping.  Duncan and Quentin followed, tiptoeing through the underbrush after him.  They snuck up, peering down into a clearing a few feet below.  Several of the adults from the settlement were gathered in a loose semicircle, the freaky-looking ghoul Shaun called his dad at the head.

     "...the place is huge," he was saying, "Filled to the fucking brim with raider scum.  Once they get organized, it'll spell catastrophe for the Commonwealth."

     "They're talking about Mom and J.J.," Shaun whispered to Duncan as the three boys flattened themselves against the ground, close enough to hear but not be seen. "The raider city.  It's where my Grandpa's going, too."   
     Quentin shifted uncomfortably as a tree root dug into his hip.  It didn't feel right, eavesdropping on the adults, but he wasn't about to stand up and tell Shaun that.

     "I thought raiders weren't a problem here," he muttered.  Shaun gave him a withering look, as if he had said something profoundly stupid. 

     "Maybe not in Sanctuary anymore," he answered, "But they're everywhere on the outside."

     "This has to be a flawless operation," Mr. Garvey was saying, having stood to join Shaun's dad. 

     "No pressure," Miss Sarah, the woman from the clinic, said humorlessly.  She had one hand resting protectively over her bulging baby bump, her lab coat gone and replaced by a small gun at her hip.

     "None whatsoever," Shaun's dad continued, "Just...no heroics, alright?  Nora and J.J. will find you guys and give you the plan.  But if anything gets fucked up, get the fuck out.  You know she'll kill me if anything happens to you guys."

     There was a general murmur of agreement in the group.  Quentin scooted forward a little, trying to pick out everyone he knew.  Duncan's dad and Miss Sarah, Mr. Garvey, Shaun's dad, and Cait, the woman who ran the Red Rocket.  Standing in the back was Captain Danse, one of Mrs. Wilson's Minutemen, with two of the younger soldiers that went everywhere with him.  There was a shuffling and stomping and a Super Mutant lumbered out of the shadows near the group, a green monstrosity carrying a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire.  Quentin felt his stomach lurch in instinctual fear, but he didn't move from his spot.

     "Sneak stupid," the mutant declared to the assembled group, "Just smash!"

     "Strong, we talked about this," Mr. Garvey said, his voice filled with exasperation. "You have to stop skulking outside the settlements; you're going to get shot accidentally."

     "Bullets not hurt Strong," the mutant snapped back.

     "Whatever," Mr. Garvey answered, "If you're going, be careful.  Don't blow Nora's cover or she won't be able to find the Milk for you."

     "Strong not hurt Leader.  Strong protect."

     "What's he talking about?" Quentin whispered.

     "It's what he thinks makes humans strong," Duncan replied, "He's kind of weird but he's smarter than most mutants."

     "Shush," Shaun hissed, "They'll hear you guys."

     "We did about ten minutes ago," Mr. Garvey yelled, and Quentin froze.  He glanced over at Shaun and Duncan, who were both still.  Duncan stared in wide-eyed amazement and Shaun shifted and muttered something under his breath.

     "Come on out," Shaun's dad called to them, "While we're gone, you can work on your stealth skills."   


     Nora leaned back in the car-shaped booth, ancient pleather creaking under her as she stretched her bare feet over the dashboard leisurely.

     "So, the plan."

     James took a swig off his Nuka Cherry and nodded. "The plan."

     "What is it?"

     "We clear the parks."

     "Okay."

     "We have a celebration."

     "I thought that's what we were doing right now," Nora replied, indicating the litter of food wrappers and the movie they had rigged to playing inside the old Starlight Interstellar Theater.  James turned and grinned at her.

     "A big one," he said, "All of Nuka Town."

     "Okay."

     "We get 'em piss drunk," he continued, "Off their game.  Get the ones here in the parks celebrating, too." 

     "Divide and conquer," Nora said, and James nodded in agreement.

     "We can sneak MacCready up to the Grille or stick him somewhere inside Dry Rock Gulch.  Let him pick 'em off one by one in the chaos."

     "Set the robots off in here.  My guys sabotage from the inside."

     James nodded and uncapped a second Nuka Cherry.  Nora unwrapped a Fancy Lads and bit into it contemplatively.

     "It's going to be utter fucking chaos," she said, "This has the potential to go belly-up quicker than we can blink."

     "Then we contain it.  Keep them from escaping the parks."

     Nora thought for a moment. "My Minutemen can do that."

     "The only park that isn't completely enclosed is Safari Kingdom," he said, "We'll have to booby trap the hell out of the place if we can."

     Nora nodded and stretched again, sinking further into her seat. "You think we can do this for real?"

     James looked over at her, his mouth a thin line. "What choice do we have?"


	10. Unexpected

    "This job is seriously draining me," Nora complained, digging through her bag for the caps at the bottom. "I still don't get why the raider bosses have to pay."

    The arms vendor shot her a dirty look but swept up her caps and slid a box of shotgun shells across the corner in exchange.  James shrugged and nodded his thanks to the vendor as they meandered away.

    "Every man for himself," he said, "It's the raider way."

    "Ugh," Nora replied, lip curled. "Where to now?"

    James pointed to the other end of the Nuka Town market, at a newly-arrived caravan group waiting near the animal pens.  Two of the hands were unloading a disgruntled Brahmin, the boss already haggling animatedly with a Pack member.

    "More junk?"

    "Fusion cells," James answered, his voice lowered. "For the 'bots.  I don't want one of the traders reporting back to Gage or one of the gangs that I've been stocking up when neither of us uses a laser weapon."

     Nora grinned and nudged him with an elbow. "Hey, now you're getting sneaky," she said, "You're learning."

     James gave her a cynical smile back. "I just don't trust most people."

     "I've heard that one before," Nora replied, "S'long as you trust me..."

     "Of course, my darling," James said, wrapping an arm around her as they approached the caravan. "Anything for you."

     Nora nudged him again, slightly harder.  He flinched and pulled his arm back and she smirked at him.

     "Don't get – oh, shit --"

     Before James could react, Nora ducked behind him and into the shadow of a tottering pile of junk, hidden from the caravan.

    "What the fuck are you doing?"

    "Shush," Nora hissed, "Don't bring more attention to me."

    James bit his lip and glanced around. "Someone here that'll recognize you?"

    Nora nodded tersely and glanced around. "One of the caravan guards," she muttered, "The woman.  Dark hair, shotgun."

    James scanned the crowd and found the woman Nora had mentioned, a middle-aged woman with curly black and gray hair pulled into a long ponytail, a shotgun slung over her shoulder, leaned against one of the animal pens lighting a cigarette.  She did look familiar, but he couldn't place her.

    "Hancock's mother," Nora answered, peeking past the pile of junk.  James tried not to choke.

    "Your mother-in-law is here?" he hissed, "One wave of recognition and she's going to --"

    "I know that!" Nora snapped back, trying to keep her voice low. "Just go get your fusion cells.  I'll handle this."

     James gave her an annoyed look but did as he was told, studiously ignoring everyone in the caravan but the boss, who had concluded his business with the Pack member and turned eagerly to his newest customer.  Nora adjusted her bag and took a deep breath, then stepped out from her hiding space and made her way over to Martha.  The older woman stood staring into space, smoking her cigarette down to a stub before Nora sidled up to her silently.

    "Act like you don't know me."

    Martha started a bit but didn't say anything.  She turned to Nora and her eyes widened a bit under her tattered baseball cap.

    "Fancy meeting you here."

    "It's a really long story," Nora replied, giving her a lopsided smile. "Since when does your caravan come out this far?"

    "Boss heard there was a new setup out west, lots of traders and travelers in desperate need of supplies," Martha replied, "He's seeing visions of wealth, so he offered me enough to tide me over all summer.  A week or two-long run and I'm set until late August.  Figured I'd see if the kids wanted to come hang out with an old lady in Diamond City for a while."

    Nora's smile softened. "I'm sure they would," she said, "Have you been by Sanctuary recently?"

    "Nope, straight here," Martha answered, "Now, give me the abbreviated version of why you're here, with a shit-ton of raiders, and we have to pretend we don't know each other.  Where's Dogmeat?"

    Nora glanced around, pretending to roll her neck and shoulders to relieve an ache, checking that they weren't being watched.

    "Dogmeat's on guard duty," Nora replied, "My friend there – um – accidentally became overboss."

    Martha lifted her eyebrows in dark bemusement, a look Nora remembered Hancock once giving her in the Third Rail when she'd told him about her time in cryostasis.

    "How long are you planning on staying here?"

    "A week at most is what the Boss said," Martha replied, "Why?"

    Nora sighed and related a quick version of how she and James had come to power in the park.  Martha listened without adding anything and shook her head in disbelief when she finished.  

    “You, uh, ever have a normal, boring week?" she asked, lighting another cigarette. "Seems you've had one adventure after another lately."

    "Boring would be welcome at this point," Nora replied, "Especially since all these adventures take me away from my family for extended periods of time."

    Martha nodded. "So you're going to ditch this place?"

    Nora swallowed hard and nodded. "It won't be long," she said, "As soon as we clear the individual parks.  You gotta be away from here by then."

    "I'll keep an ear open," Martha replied, "Don't worry about me."

    "I worry about everyone."

    Martha smiled and lifted a hand as if to squeeze her shoulder, but dropped it suddenly. "I'll tell you what I always told John," she said seriously, "You can't carry the world on your shoulders."

    Nora felt a catch in her throat and looked away.  She wanted to hug Martha, hold onto someone familiar for just a moment as homesickness pierced her gut, but she took a steadying breath and adjusted her bag.  James was finishing his trading, shaking hands with the caravan boss with a huge smile on his face.

    "Please be careful, Martha," she said, brushing the older woman's arm briefly before turning to join James.  

 

    Porter Gage shifted in his seat, leaning heavily on the old bar top in the Grille.  The dog, perched on the big double bed in the corner like he owned it, continued pretending to be asleep.  Gage contemplated it for a moment and then stood, slow and careful.  The dog didn't move.

    He took a few cautious steps towards little island where the Overboss and his wife kept everything.  They had been using the safe; he'd seen the woman stuff a bag of some sort in there that morning after they came back from Nuka Galaxy.  He wanted – _needed_ – to know more about them, and he was sure that figuring out what she kept in the safe and in her bag under the bed would enlighten him.

    Not that they weren't working out – the opposite, in fact, doing more work in a few days than Colter had done in his whole year as Overboss.  If things kept going the way they were, he and the gangs would be rolling in it soon, and nothing would make him happier.

    Something about _her,_ though.  She rubbed him wrong in ways he couldn't quite put a finger on.

    Could be nothing.  Could be everything.  Had to get to know her a little before making a decision.

    His boots were heavy on the cracked tile flooring.  The dog's ears twitched and he froze.  It cracked open its dark, beady eyes and watched him warily.  He waited a moment but the dog didn't move, just blinked tiredly and sighed.

    Gage took another cautious step forward.  The dog's eyes snapped open and its hackles lifted, a low growl rumbling across the space between them.  Gage swore in frustration.  The last time he had tried to get past the dog when it was on guard, the damn mutt had almost torn his arm off.

    "What's she got to hide, huh?" he asked, scowling at the defensive dog.  It glared back, hackles down but its posture still stiff and alert.

    Gage swore to himself and shook his head, heading back to his chair in defeat.  At that moment, he heard the elevator below begin to whir and rattle as it came up.  He leaned back, doing his best to look unconcerned as the Boss’s frazzled, dirty mop of hair came into view, followed by his wife’s red mane.  The dog perked up and hopped off the bed, tail wagging as he went to meet his mistress.

    “Waiting for us, Gage?” the Boss asked, squinting at him.  His wife scoffed.

    “Because that’s not creepy at all,” she interjected with a look of distaste.  Gage threw her a dirty look, which she matched before dropping onto a patched couch and stretching her legs out on a nearby coffee table.

    “Ya’ll got plans tomorrow?”

    The Boss shrugged and plopped down next to his wife. “I dunno,” he said, “I thought maybe we’d try out that lovely little cafe down by the market, then take a walk in the irradiated fog...what do you think, darling?”

    His wife ignored him, picking at a hole in the knee of her jeans. “Safari Kingdom.”

    “Oh, right.  Damn.  Well, work before pleasure, right?”

    Gage couldn’t decide if the Boss was stupid, crazy, or just fucking with him, but at this point, he’d decided to ignore his eccentricities like his wife seemed to.

    “Big park,” he said, “Gonna take more than the two of you to clear it out.”

    “I think we’ll manage,” she said, still giving him that dirty look. “Managed the Gulch and Nuka Galaxy on our own.”

    “I don’t mind,” the Boss chimed in, shrugging. “The more the merrier, sweets.”

    She pursed her lips in obvious annoyance but didn’t say anything.  Gage gave her a smug smile.

    “Lookin’ forward to it,” he said, sliding off the barstool and heading for the elevator. “Gotta make myself useful somehow.”

    He crossed to the elevator and slapped the big button to head down.  The Boss waved amicably as he rattled downward; Gage almost missed the murderous glare his wife gave him before they disappeared from sight.

 

    Charon set a punishing pace across the radioactive desert that was the Glowing Sea, Virgil clomping behind him in the ill-fitting radiation suit he’d been given as he tried to keep up.  They crossed the crater without speaking to anyone, the ghoul studiously ignoring the Children and any of their small gestures -- waves, bowed heads -- of acknowledgement.  Virgil wanted to ask what the relationship was between ghouls and the Children of Atom, but guessed that his new guide wasn’t the one he should ask.

    Charon seemed to barely break a sweat as they climbed the steep walls of the crater, scrambling up the rocky terrain with ease as Virgil followed, huffing and unsteady.  Once or twice he slipped, almost rolling the long way back down, but managed to right himself and keep going.  Didn’t look like he would get a helping hand from his guide, anyway.

    “This is the dangerous part,” he said when they’d made it to the top of the crater, stopping at the lip and gesturing out to the empty expanse beyond.  Virgil stopped and surveyed the view.  He couldn’t see very far ahead, maybe three-quarters of a mile, but all he saw was...emptiness.  Gray-green fog floated above the bare, scorched earth, broken by occasional flashes of lightning.  Growing up in the Institute, this is what all the adults said the whole earth above ground looked like, empty and dead and desolate.

    “It’s fifteen miles to the edge and twenty to a safe settlement,” Charon continued, “It will take several hours at full speed.  We can’t stop except for a few moments.  We may encounter radscorpions, ferals, and worse.  Or all of them.”

    Virgil glanced over at the ghoul and shuddered.  He looked _excited_ about the prospect of life-threatening danger.

    “Okay,” he replied, swallowing hard.

    “Don’t fall behind,” Charon warned, unholstering his shotgun. “And do _exactly_ as I say.”

    Virgil nodded obediently.  Charon seemed satisfied and slung his shotgun over one shoulder.

    “Let’s go.”

    Life in the Institute had not prepared him for hard labor, and his years hiding in a cave hadn’t, either.  Virgil struggled to keep up, practically running at points as the ghoul plowed on through the Sea.  What had seemed like flat, easy terrain from the Crater turned out to be uneven hills, potholes filled with radioactive goop, wreckage of the old world half-buried in ash and dust, and mounds of sand and bones and petrified tree trunks.  He did his best to hide his struggles, but after what felt like more than an hour, his muscles were burning and sweat was dripping into his eyes as his mask fogged over.

    He slowed as Charon kept plowing forward, sucking in plastic-tasting air.  When he tripped over a broken tree limb jutting out of the earth and went sprawling, the ghoul finally seemed to take notice and stopped.

    “Water,” he ordered as Virgil huffed and hauled himself slowly back to his feet, “We’ve gone about four miles so far.  We’re making decent time.”

    Virgil vaguely wondered what time of the day it was as he lifted his mask just enough to suck down a few mouthfuls of warm water from his canteen.  The air outside didn’t smell much better than the inside of his mask.

    As he slipped it back on and recapped his canteen, he glanced over at Charon.  Wet scarlet trails had soaked through his shirt, just visible at the edges of his armor.

    “You’re bleeding again,” he said, voice creaking out of his parched throat.  Charon glanced down and then away, obviously unconcerned.

    “I’ll manage,” he replied tonelessly, “We should keep going.”

    Virgil nodded and stuffed his canteen back into his bag. “I’m ready.”

    Charon continued on, though Virgil noticed the pace seemed somewhat slower.  He didn’t say anything, thankful that he could keep up without tripping over himself.  Charon seemed to know exactly which direction to go, though everything looked the same to Virgil no matter how far they went.

    They stopped after another hour or so, both chugging water quickly in the gloom.

    “How much farther?” Virgil asked cautiously.  Charon swallowed a mouthful of water and stared into the void for a moment.

    “Ten miles or so,” he said, “To the edge, where you can take off the radiation suit.  You should take another Rad-X.”

    Virgil nodded and popped one of the white pills obediently.  After a few moments’ silent rest, they began walking again.  He followed behind Charon a few steps, which probably saved his life when the ground shifted suddenly and a radscorpion burst forth from its collapsed nest.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised I wouldn't abandon you, and lookee! Here I am.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Also, some bonus art for your viewing pleasure: https://sociallyacceptablemadness.tumblr.com/post/170289663645/my-ocs-james-hawkins-jr-the-lone-wanderer-aka


	11. Shit Happens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter-than-usual chapter because ending with this one particular scene just felt best. Enjoy :-)

    Sanctuary was hot and quiet.  Shaun trudged along the bank of the stream behind the houses, an empty bucket swinging from one hand as he looked for a place deep enough to fill it.  The sun was falling fast, dipping behind the houses in a blaze of hot orange and red.  He’d finished all of his chores an hour before but hadn’t escaped in time; Curie had caught him and put him to work collecting water samples for her next batch of experiments.

    He finally found a good spot and picked his way down the bank, squatting to dip his bucket in when he heard a loud, dejected sniffle from nearby.  He stopped and looked around, worried suddenly that Duncan had followed him and then twisted his ankle on the rocks again.  Duncan, however, was nowhere to be seen.  He heard the sniffle again, coming from somewhere behind him, hidden in the old trees that covered the bank.

    “Hello?”

    He stood and set his bucket down, looking around.  He wasn’t far from the Sanctuary Cemetery, where he might expect people to be crying, but the only person that ever came down that way was his mother and she was nowhere near Sanctuary.

    He stepped through the brush and trees in the direction of the cemetery, pushing back old vines until the source of the crying came into view -- it was Quentin, sitting at one of the dilapidated picnic tables with his head buried in his arms.

    Shaun froze, unsure what to do.  Walking up to the other boy seemed absurd, given their history, but it also felt  _ wrong _ to just leave him there, alone and upset.  He shifted, thinking, and stepped on a small branch that snapped loudly under his weight.  Quentin’s head shot up and his eyes fell on Shaun, who tried his best not to look guilty.

    “Are you  _ spying _ on me?” Quentin demanded, glaring through puffy, bloodshot eyes.  Shaun shook his head quickly.

    “No,” he said, “I just -- I heard you -- are you okay?”   


    Quentin swiped at his eyes and looked away. “I’m fine.”   


    Shaun bit the inside of his lip and stepped forward cautiously, taking a seat opposite the other boy.  The bench creaked under his weight, startlingly loud in the quiet thicket.

    “What’s the matter?”

    “What do you care?”

    Shaun shrugged. “I guess I don’t,” he said, “I just thought -- maybe -- should I go get your mom?”

    “No!” Quentin practically yelled, sniffling and wiping at his face again. “Don’t you dare tell anyone.”

    “Why not?”   


    Quentin scoffed but didn’t answer.  Shaun traced a whorl in the old wooden table with his finger, trying to think of what to say.  He’d seen his mom act like Quentin before -- sad, but angry when someone brought it up.  Usually it was his dad that talked to her, or Mr. Garvey or Mr. MacCready, but they either hugged her or took her somewhere private to talk.  He didn’t want to hug Quentin and he had no idea what to say to sad, angry people.

    The two boys sat in silence for what felt like a long time.  Shaun had almost decided to get up and leave, finish his work for Curie, when Quentin spoke.

    “Do you ever miss your dad?”

    Shaun looked up from the grain of the table. “How could I miss him?”

    Quentin shook his head. “Not the -- not Mr. Hancock,” he said, stumbling over the title as if he wasn’t used to it. “Your  _ real  _ dad.  From -- from before.”

    “Oh,” Shaun replied, taken aback. “Him.”   


    Quentin nodded.  Shaun glanced to his left, where he could see, through the tangle of old trees, the cemetery a hundred or so feet away.  There were fifteen graves -- one for his biological father, thirteen for the people who had gone into the vault with him and his mother, and one for a Minuteman who had been shot during a raid the winter before.  He knew which one was his father’s; he’d seen his mom sitting in front of the bland wooden cross before.  On it was carved his father’s name and two dates --  _ Nathaniel James Wilson, 11/20/2046 - 10/23/2077. _

    “I guess sometimes,” Shaun said after a moment, shrugging. “He wasn’t…”

    He trailed off, unsure of how to say what he meant.  Nate was  _ technically _ his father -- in the sense that Shaun was, in essence, a clone of his son.  Biologically, he was the same as the baby Nate and his mother had carried into the vault.  But it wasn’t  _ him _ and he tried not to think about it too much.  It made his head hurt and he got confused and inexplicably angry when he did.

    “Do you miss your dad?” he asked, looking back at Quentin.  The boy was close to crying again, his eyes watery with unshed tears.

    “He got sick like I did,” Quentin replied, nodding. “My mom didn’t leave to get help for  _ him _ .”

    Shaun wasn’t sure what to say.  He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

    “I’m sorry,” he managed at last, lamely.  Quentin glanced at him and away.

    “It’s not  _ your _ fault.”   


    Shaun felt his defenses jump, ready to leap at Quentin if he so much as breathed a word against his mother, but he didn’t say anything else.

    “They should have gotten help sooner,” Quentin whispered after another short silence.  Shaun looked away as tears fell down the boy’s dirty cheeks.  He felt suddenly like he was intruding on something private, something no one should see.

    “Shit happens,” he blurted, cheeks reddening.  His mother said it all the time -- he wasn’t really sure how she meant it, but it seemed the best thing to say right then.  Quentin stared in confusion.

    “Shit happens,” Shaun repeated, then plowed on breathlessly. “And you move on because you can’t sit still or you’ll just go nuts -- and -- and -- would your dad want you to do that?”

    It was what his mother said to people.  Or, most of what she said.  He never heard everything because if she noticed him eavesdropping, she gave him that  _ look _ that scared the pants off him and he left as quick as he could.

    Quentin didn’t look any less confused.  Shaun let out a sigh and shifted uncomfortably.

    “You should talk to Curie,” he said, “Or Miss Sarah.  They’re -- they’re nice to be around when you’re upset.”

    “I don’t want to talk to anyone,” Quentin replied, “Not anymore.  I’m fine.”

    “Everyone here understands being -- being sad because you lost someone,” Shaun said, “Or something -- something important.”

    Quentin stared suspiciously, as if he didn’t believe him. “Oh, yeah?”

    “Yeah,” Shaun said, “That’s why we all get along so well.  At least, the adults do.  Mr. MacCready’s wife died when Duncan was a baby.  And Mr. Garvey’s friends died before he met my mom.  And Miss Sarah and Mr. Danse -- they lost friends in the Brotherhood and then they had to  _ leave _ the Brotherhood.  My dad’s brother died, and my grandmother, and…”

    He trailed off, suddenly realizing how cataloguing all of Sanctuary’s collective losses made him feel miserable.

    “Well, point is,” he said, looking away again. “Point is -- you’re not the only one.  So you don’t have to sit here in the woods by yourself when you miss someone.”

    He stood up as heard Curie’s voice drift through the trees, calling him.  He remembered the water samples and his forgotten bucket.    


    “Besides, stingwings like to come down by the water here when it gets dark.”


	12. Gatorclaws and Radscorpions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *singsong* Guess what I did instead of lesson plans?

    Nora stared up at the Angry Anaconda and sighed.  Another rollercoaster.

    “Something wrong, Boss?”

    Gage came up beside her and followed her gaze.  Nora shook her head.

    “Just thinking,” she said, wishing that James hadn’t insisted they split up.  Although she was perfectly confident in her ability to take care of herself and deal with Gage, she didn’t like doing anything alone.  Wandering around with just Dogmeat and no one to talk to, no one she could rely on to watch her back, felt uncomfortably like those early days out of the vault, days she would rather forget.

    But, James was right.  It lessened the time they spent trying to find the source of the gatorclaw infestation, gave him time to feel out Cito’s trustworthiness, and lessened the chance that one of them would slip up and use the wrong name or mention the Minutemen in front of Gage.

    “Don’t think too long,” Gage replied, “Sunlight’s wastin’.”

    Nora resisted the urge to reply and cracked open her shotgun, double-checking that it was loaded before clambering up the jagged, untamed ridge towards the rollercoaster.  Gage followed after, armor clunking unsteadily, and Dogmeat brought up the rear.  Nora stopped again and surveyed the area, looking for possible threats before moving on.  Dogmeat came up beside her and sniffed the air, ears flattened.  He looked at her worriedly; all the strange smells and commands ( _ leave the ghoulrillas alone, boy _ ) had him confused and anxious.  Nora gave him a reassuring smile.

    “We’ll be out of here soon, boy,” she said, “Can you find anything good for me?”

    He gave her a doggy grin and licked her hand before trotting off toward a rusty construction trailer.  Nora followed, shotgun held at the ready.  Two gatorclaws had been more than enough for one day.

    “What the hell ya’ think was the point of this thing, anyway?” Gage asked as the passed under one giant loop of the half-finished rollercoaster.

    “No idea,” Nora answered truthfully.  She’d never been fond of the thrill rides. “Keep an eye out for a prewar holotape.”   


    “How do we know the damn thing even still exists?”

    “We don’t,” Nora said, “But right now it’s the only way we have to get the cloning facility open.  So just help me look, alright?”

    Gage gave her a look but she ignored him, shoving open the trailer door before climbing inside.  It was dark and musty, filled with all the same prewar detritus as every construction trailer she’d ever plundered -- rotting cardboard boxes of ancient invoices, broken typewriters and staplers, overturned office chairs, collapsing file cabinets.  She shifted through the junk, tossing it all into an empty corner as Gage wandered into one of the connecting trailers.  Nora could hear metal scraping metal and muttering as he searched; it didn’t sound like he was being very meticulous.

    “Any luck?” she called after a few minutes, sighing and standing up from her junk pile.

    “Not a damn thing, Boss,” he replied, rejoining her.

    “Let’s check the other ones,” she said, “The A.F.A.D. supposedly took the scientist hostage here, so it’s plausible they had his passcode tapes.”

    “How do you remember all those little details?” Gage asked, shaking his head. “Dumb prewar bullshit…”

    Nora didn’t answer as Gage trailed off, distractedly kicking through the trash under their feet.  She remembered the A.F.A.D. vividly; one of her more radical law school friends had joined the group just before graduation and spent the next four years attempting to convince her to quit the DA’s office and do the same.

    They searched several other trailers nearby with no luck.  Sweating under the hot sun, they trudged along an old, sandy ridge toward a maze of scaffolding and rusty construction equipment.  Nora knelt and pulled her lockpicking kit -- a screwdriver and a pile of salvaged bobby pins -- from one of the pockets on her bag, working quickly as sweat rolled down her neck and back.  When at last the locked popped, Gage made a small noise of approval.

    “Sure are nimble,” he said, “Bet that comes in handy.”

    “Can’t shoot off every lock,” Nora replied dryly, pocketing the kit and slinging her bag back over her shoulder.  She stepped inside, glad for the shade even if it was musty and airless, and began searching for the tape.  The trailer they’d stepped into connected to three or four others, each progressively dirtier and more cluttered.

    “I’m starting to think this is a wild goose chase, Boss,” Gage called to her as she dumped a desk drawer and pawed through the contents.  She sighed and sat back on her heels.

    “Let’s check the scaffolding outside,” she called back, “If there’s nothing up there, then we’ll head back.” 

    “Hey, uh, Boss?” Gage yelled a moment later. 

    “Yeah?”

    “You got Rad-Away, right?”

    Nora’s heart sank. “Yeah, why?”

    She wove through the maze of trailers to where he stood in an open doorway, looking out at a pile of rusted barrels.  They were sealed, but didn’t look sound.

    “They’ve probably been leaking glowing shit for years,” Gage said, shaking his head.  Nora sighed.  She hadn’t even considered radiation; she was so used to being alerted to it by either Hancock or her Pip-Boy’s Geiger counter that she had long stopped looking out for it.

    “Well, don’t stand there soaking in more like a dipshit,” she snapped, grabbing the door handle and slamming it shut. “Let’s move.”

    She could feel his eyes on her as they made their way back outside to the old scaffolding, but didn’t say anything.  The heat was making her irritable; she wanted to give up on this massive park and call it a day, tell the raiders that if they wanted it then they could clear it themselves.

    They’d made it halfway to the scaffolding before Dogmeat stopped in his tracks, hackles lifted, growling low in his throat.

    “What is it, boy?”   


    Nora stopped and scanned the area around them, looking for the source of his distress.  She could hear rocks falling nearby, something scrabbling up the hill from the main section of the park.  Seconds later, the blunt, scaled head of a gatorclaw poked over the ridge and sniffed the air.

    She and Gage swore in unison and the gatorclaw let out an angry bellow, vaulting up the hill and towards them.  Dogmeat braced himself, growling and snapping; Nora snatched at the bandana tied around his neck and yanked him back, making a beeline for the trailers they had just left.  Gage yanked open the door and threw himself inside, Nora and Dogmeat on his heels.  She slammed it closed barely in time.  The gatorclaw roared and the trailer shook as at took a swipe, claws ripping into the flimsy, aged metal.

    “Go out the back!” she ordered as the trailer shook again, rocking precariously.  She didn’t want to track through radioactive waste, but it would kill her slower than a mutant lizard, at least.  Before Gage could answer, the trailer shuddered and rocked again, tipping forward.  Nora pitched into Gage and Dogmeat’s nails scrabbled against the metal floor as it began to roll, carrying them with it.

    Nora could barely register what was happening as she slammed into the opposite wall.  The impact knocked her breath out and spots danced in front of her eyes.  She clutched her shotgun in one hand, trying desperately to grab onto anything with the other.  The gatorclaw roared and scratched at the trailer, ripping long, wide gashes in the metal.  Nora looked up and saw it peering inside at them, dark reptilian eyes glowing with some instinctual anger.

    She and Gage both fired up through the torn metal at it, gunshots reverberating in the enclosed space.  She felt the blast against her skull and both ears popped.  The shots did little to the gatorclaw but piss it off; it shook its giant serpentine head and snarled at them.  It snaked long claws into the gashes and pulled, the metal separating with an ear-splitting screech.  Nora fired a second shot, forcing the creature backward a few feet.  It swung at the trailer, tipping it over again as if it were no heavier than a tin can.  Nora screamed and Gage cursed as they tumbled, a mess of armor and fur and office equipment.

    The trailer landed on solid ground again and a filing cabinet wrenched away from the wall it had been bolted to, rolling toward Nora.

    “Boss!” Gage yelled, seconds before the cabinet rolled onto her, pinning her right arm to her chest, twisted over her shotgun.  She let out a muffled scream as pain ripped through her torso, the weight of the cabinet crushing her chest and forcing her breath out in a gasp.  It was Concord all over again; she was caught in a metal death trap, doom leering over her with angry teeth and claws.

    “Hold tight, Boss,” Gage said, shuffling through the mess toward her.  She could feel him trying to move the cabinet, but the gatorclaw was still swiping at the trailer, jolting them this way and that so that he couldn’t keep steady.  Dogmeat was cowering in the corner by her feet, bloody spittle dripping from his jaws.  Nora’s stomach spasmed with fear for her mutt even as the cabinet jostled and sent fresh waves of pain through her chest.

    She could hear gunshots and snarling.  The weight of the cabinet made it almost impossible to breathe and her vision was graying at the edges.  Someone yelled and several gunshots echoed nearby, something automatic.  She twisted and tried to push the cabinet off, muscles burning and screaming for oxygen.

    Several more gunshots, then a brief silence before a small explosion rocked the trailer.  Nora gasped and her vision went black.

 

    “She’s going to wake up, isn’t she?”   


    “She’s  _ fine _ .  Don’t hover.”

    Nora tried to open her eyes, but they felt like leaden weights.  Her whole body felt heavy, like her muscles suddenly had no strength in them.  She was hot, sweaty, and thirsty, but she couldn’t manage to even wiggle a bit.

    She tried to take a deep breath but it caught in her chest, which ached and burned.  She knew this heaviness, the dead weight -- she was strung out on Med-X.

    Tears pricked at the back of her eyes.  She didn’t remember taking the drug, she’d been sober for almost three months --

    “Hand me that IV bag.  No, the other one.”

    She felt a small, soft hand on her arm and then a sting.  She tried to pull away and couldn’t.  There was another sting and then a flood of warmth up her arm.  It made her sleepy.

    “Call me when she wakes up, okay?”

    Nora tried to move her arms but they were still too heavy.  Exhaustion dragged her down and she gave in to it.

 

    Virgil couldn’t help the terrified yell that ripped out of him.  He backed away and tripped over a rock, landing sprawled on his back as the radscorpion advanced, claws lashing out.  Charon fired his shotgun and the creature reared back, turning to him angrily.

    “I’m getting fed-up with you damned bugs!” Charon yelled, firing a second shot.  Virgil scrambled back, trying to right himself as terror surged through him like a jolt of electricity.  He was going to die, he was definitely going to die --

    The second shotgun blast made the radscorpion skitter away momentarily, giving Charon a moment to reach out and lift Virgil up and to his feet like a rag doll.  He thrust a small handgun at him.

    “Defend yourself, you idiot,” he growled as the radscorpion came skittering back toward them, stinger lashing ferociously.  Virgil panicked and squeezed the trigger.  The dirt near Charon’s feet exploded and he turned to berate him.

    The momentary distraction gave the radscorpion its opening.  With terrifying accuracy, the stinger lashed, connecting solidly with Charon’s already injured shoulder.  He let out a deep, reverberating growl of pain and yanked himself away from the impalement, swinging the butt of his shotgun into the radscorpion’s face.  Virgil squeezed the trigger a few more times, attempting to aim this time, and one shot landed on the bug’s soft, fleshy side.  It squealed in pain and pulled back.  Virgil shot again and missed, his gun clicking as the magazine emptied.  Charon dropped his shotgun and stumbled, his arm hanging limply at his side.  He had a knife in one hand and swung at the radscorpion, but it dodged the clumsy swipe and knocked the ghoul over with a massive claw.  

    Virgil, heart pounding in his ears, lunged forward and grabbed the shotgun.  His hands wrapped around the warm barrel and he swung it upward, clubbing the radscorpion once.  He felt the soft flesh of its back give way to a sick crunch and he swung again, emboldened and running on solid adrenaline.  The radscorpion let out a strange hiss and stumbled away, legs scrabbling for purchase.  Virgil swung again, connecting the stock of the shotgun with any part of the radscorpion he could reach.  It hissed in pain, trying to snap at him with its claws, but it seemed to be losing strength and focus.  He brought the gun down over and over into its back and head, yelling incomprehensibly.

    At last, the radscorpion fell and stayed down, legs twitching.  Virgil gasped and dropped the shotgun, stumbling back as the adrenaline left him suddenly.  He was shaking all over, unable to think about anything but the fact that he was still alive.  He sucked in several deep breaths and looked over at Charon, half-sitting in the dirt and staring at him in wonder.

    “What the shit,” the ghoul muttered, his words slurred.  Virgil took another breath as he tried to think of a response, but before he could, Charon slumped over in the dirt, as limp as the dead radscorpion.

    Virgil stumbled over, dropping to his knees next to him.  The ghoul was out cold, breaths shallow and labored.  There was a hole as wide around as a bottle cap in his chest, just beneath his collarbone, oozing blood like a sieve.  Virgil scrambled, rooting through Charon’s bag and pulling out a pair of stimpaks.  He stabbed them into the wound, then dumped the contents of his canteen on the wound.  

    Gradually, the bleeding stopped, the wound puckering at the edges.  Virgil swiped at it, trying to clean some of the blood, but only managed to smear dirt into it.  He swore to himself and leaned over, smacking at the ghoul’s face lightly.

    No response.

    “Fuck,” he breathed to himself.  He looked around, as if there might be someone he could flag down for help, but was met with the gray-green fog and emptiness of the Glowing Sea.  With a groan, he stood and grabbed the ghoul’s wrists, dragging him forward through the dirt.  He weighed a ton, a solid, dead weight that even his leftover mutant muscles couldn’t pull easily.

    He had no solid assurance he was going in the right direction, but he continued on, dragging Charon behind him towards what he hoped was the edge of the Glowing Sea.


	13. Familiar Face

    Nora woke slowly, coming to as if dragging herself out of quicksand.  She blinked a few times, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling in a blessedly dark room.  She ached all over, the pain concentrated on her right side, in her forearm and along her ribs.  Her arm was wrapped tightly, hung in a sling at her side and she was propped up slightly in bed.  With a massive effort and a pained groan, she shifted a bit, lifting her head to look around.

    “Hey, welcome back,” a soft, cheerful voice nearby said.  Nora glanced around as Mackenzie Bridgman came into the room, carrying what looked like a large dinner tray.

    “What happened?” Nora asked, her voice thin and hoarse.  Her throat was dry, her tongue heavy and unwilling to move.

    “Gatorclaw,” Mackenzie replied, setting the tray on a nearby table. “You were crushed under -- something -- I’m not sure what.  James was sort of babbling.”

    Nora swallowed thickly. “That I remember,” she said, “How’d I get here?”   


    “He and Gage brought you in about two days ago,” Mackenzie said, “You were in pretty rough shape.  Can you sit up?”

    With Mackenzie’s help, Nora struggled upright, the pain in her side ratcheting up as she did.  Cold sweat broke out on her chest and back and she took several deep, steadying breaths before she could speak again.

    “I’ve been out for two days?”   


    “Almost three now,” Mackenzie replied with a grimace, “Sadly, my stimpaks aren’t as effective as the ones you can get in the city, so it’s been slow healing.  I know you don’t like the Med-X, but I dosed you up so you wouldn’t thrash around.”

    Nora glanced down at herself, the bandaged arm in a sling, and let out a heavy breath.  Wordlessly, Mackenzie came over and began undoing the wrapping, revealing a forearm taken up by a massive bruise that had started to turn green on the edges.  Nora flexed her fingers and flinched.  There was a brand new scar, long and jagged, running along the outside edge of her arm, from her wrist and halfway to her elbow.

    “Compound fracture,” Mackenzie said, “Thankfully just the one break, everything else is intact.”

    Nora nodded, her head spinning a bit. “Where’s James?  Is Dogmeat okay?”

    “He’s been waiting up with you, but he fell asleep on the couch a few hours ago,” Mackenzie answered, “With Dogmeat.”

    Nora looked around, shifting herself a bit with her uninjured arm.  She was in the back room of the Fizztop Grille, settled in one of the old beds and surrounded by a myriad of medical paraphernalia on various tabletops.  In the far corner, she could see James sprawled on an ancient couch, one arm thrown over his face, Dogmeat wedged between his legs, both fast asleep. 

    Nora shifted again, pushing herself further up and moving dead-weight legs toward the edge of the bed.  Mackenzie shot her a concerned look but didn’t argue.

    “I need some fresh air,” she said, “It’s stifling in here.”

    Mackenzie nodded and held out an arm for support.  Nora took it gratefully, every muscle she never knew she had protesting as she stood.  Her back and hips popped and her head swam for a moment, but she managed to stay upright and shuffled cautiously toward the door.  Mackenzie followed and shoved the double doors onto the Grille open for her.  Bright afternoon sun assaulted her eyes and she squinted.

    “Hey, Boss,” a familiar, rough voice greeted, “Finally got your ass up.”

    Nora ignored Gage’s lopsided smile and settled gingerly into a stool at the bar, a few feet away from him.

    “Took a pretty good beating,” he continued, sliding a bowl of something towards her. “The Pack appreciates the new territory, though.  Sent up some provisions as thanks.”

    Nora peered dubiously into the bowl, which was filled with some sort of shredded meat mixed into what looked like Blamco Mac n’ Cheese.

    “This better not be dog,” she said, taking a fork and spearing a tiny bit.  Gage snorted.

    “What, you too good for some mutt chops?”

    Nora ignored him and nibbled at her forkful.  It tasted vaguely of Brahmin, greasy and gamey but not awful.  She was suddenly starving and took a second, larger bite.

    “I assume you guys managed to finish clearing the park?” Nora asked, reaching for a Nuka Cola and trying not wince as her bruised ribs stretched.

    “Yeah, once Doc Bridgman had everything under control,” Gage said, muffling a belch behind his fist. “Holotape was up on the scaffolding like you guessed.”

    Nora grimaced around another bite of her lunch. “He gave it to the Pack?”

    “Seemed appropriate to give the zoo to the animals,” Gage replied, grinning at her. 

    “Can’t argue with that, I guess,” she said, “So that just leaves us with the bottling plant and Kiddie Kingdom.”

    Gage nodded. “Which gang you planning on shafting?”

    Nora looked up from her food, eyes narrowed. “Who said we were planning any such thing?”

    “Three gangs and five parks, Boss,” Gage replied, “Even I can do that kind of math.  Right now everyone’s got equal footing but that ain’t gonna last, unless you plan on taking one of the parks for yourself along with Nuka-Town, which I don’t recommend.”   


    “What  _ do  _ you recommend, then?”   


    Gage shrugged. “I ain’t got any loyalties,” he said, “Each gang’s got its pros and cons.  Matter of preference, I’d say.”

    Nora nodded vaguely.  A diplomatic way of saying,  _ don’t really give a shit. _

    She took another swig of her soda, wishing for the thousandth time that refrigerators still worked, when the double doors opened and James shuffled out, hair sticking up in all directions as he rubbed sleep from his eyes, Mackenzie and Dogmeat following.

    “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he said, grinning at Nora.  He crashed onto the stool next to her as Dogmeat trotted up, licking her hand excitedly.  She smiled gratefully and planted a kiss on his cheek.

    “I take it you saved the day?”   


    “Went to see what was taking you and Gage so long,” he said, “Figured the gatorclaw wasn’t battling it out with that trailer for no reason.  Incidentally, those plasma grenades you gave me are pretty fucking awesome.”

    “Hancock and I took a huge crate of them off some Gunners a while back,” Nora replied, then froze when she realized her slip.  James managed to keep his poker face intact.

    “You guys always have the fun without me,” he said, “I’ll have to go with you more often.”

    She smiled nervously and glanced surreptitiously at Gage, but the raider seemed absorbed in his food.

    “We were just talking about our next adventure,” she said, trying to seem subtle about the subject change.  Shit, but she was a terrible liar.

    “Yeah, and they’re going to be especially fun,” James replied, grabbing his own cola and popping the cap off. “Kiddie Kingdom is full of ferals and the bottling plant is infested with mirelurks.”

    “Two of my favorites,” Nora muttered darkly.

    “We’re going to need a shit-ton of Rad-Away,” James continued, looking over at Mackenzie. “Can you hook us up, doc?”

    “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure,” Mackenzie replied dryly, “How about just finding an anti-radiation suit?”   


    James slapped his forehead. “Oh, I forgot!” he exclaimed mockingly, “Remember those intact Hazmat suits you brought with you, dear?”

    Nora rolled her eyes and poked his arm with her fork. “Be nice.”

    “You got Colter’s power armor,” Gage interjected, “Probably still sitting there in the arena.”   


    “There,” Nora said, giving him a smile. “Slap some coats of lead paint on it and we’re golden.”

    James gave her a dark look but nodded. “Fine,” he said, “Gage, can you get some grunts to haul it up here?”   


    “On it, Boss,” he said, shoving away his dirty bowl and standing. “By the way, the Operators are having some sort of thing tonight.  I was told to formally invite you.”

    He said it with a measure of disdain that Nora couldn’t help grinning at, knowing how much the Operators’ need for style and looks irritated the rest of Nuka-Town. 

    “I’ll try to drop by,” she said, and he shrugged indifferently before striding to the elevator and disappearing downstairs.  Mackenzie settled into his empty seat.

    “Things are getting close,” she said, “The rest of the sla -- traders -- are getting nervous.”

    “Nervous?”

    “Thinking things are going to get worse than they already are,” Mackenzie clarified, “Harvey and I are the only ones who know you’re not actually raiders.  With you clearing parks and them bringing in new people every day, they’re...less inclined to treat us like finite resources.”   


    Nora bit her lip and sighed. “I’m sorry, Mackenzie,” she said, “We’re meeting my guys soon --”

    “Two days,” James interjected.

    “And then it won’t be much longer at all.  As soon as we clear the parks and get everyone in position.”

    “I know,” Mackenzie said, “I understand.  I’m just reporting on the general situation like you asked.”

    “Has Harvey gotten a hold of a collar for me yet?” James asked, “Or is he dragging his feet still?”   


    “No idea,” Mackenzie answered, “I’ll light a fire under his ass tonight.  I gotta get going.”   


    “Thanks,” Nora said, “For everything.”   


    Mackenzie nodded and smiled. “You can thank me when we get this place cleaned up.”   


    When she was gone, James turned to Nora. “So, we going to flip a coin for the armor?’

    She let out a heavy breath. “Actually,” she began, poking at her food. “Kiddie Kingdom.  Ferals.”

    “Yes.”

    Nora glared. “ _ Ferals _ ,” she repeated, “Killing them.  Do I have to spell it out for you?”   


    There was a tense pause and then realization dawned on James’s face. “Oh.”

    “Look, I know it’s really stupid,” Nora said, waving a hand. “And I don’t advocate trying to keep them alive or whatever.  But -- knowing that -- knowing that my grandmother…”

    James nodded in understanding. “I get it,” he said, “You don’t have to explain.”

    Nora smiled around a lump in her throat.  She’d never had a chance to properly grieve for her grandmother and had avoided any clashes with ferals ever since.

    “You’re still pretty banged up,” James said, glancing at her bruised arm still in the sling. “I’ll just find some anti-rad stuff for Gage and take him as backup.”

    Nora gave him a grateful smile and squeezed his bicep. “You are a good person, James.”

    He felt heat rise in his chest and it took all his self-control not to close the short distance between them and kiss her.  Before he could lose it and make an ass of himself, a distraction came in the form of the elevator rattling up towards them.  Nora glanced toward it and James let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

    Two slaves, dirty and collared, appeared as the elevator rumbled up, each carrying mismatched pieces of dented power armor.  James slid off his seat and waved them forward, shoving extra furniture out of the way so they could deposit the pieces near the power armor rack in the corner.  Behind them came a second pair wrestling the frame.  James heard Nora make a strangled noise of some sort, like a shout of surprise muffled hastily, and turned to see if she was alright just as a bottle of Nuka Cola shattered on the floor.

    “You okay?”

    “Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” she replied, ducking behind the counter out of sight. “Just -- looking for a -- looking for a towel --”

    He went to lean over and see what was wrong, but was distracted when one of the slaves dropped his corner of the power armor frame and swore loudly.  After a few minutes of wrestling and some more swearing, the three of them managed to get it hooked into the station.  Nora remained out of sight, rummaging loudly through the junk behind the counter.  Once the slaves had gone, James flopped into a chair, wiping sweat off his forehead.

    “Coast is clear,” he called, and Nora popped up. “Let me guess -- someone you know.”

    She shifted guiltily. “Kind of.”   


    “Fuck, you know too many people,” James replied, shaking his head. “Who now?”

    “A kid who probably hates me.”

    “Who could possibly hate you, oh savior of the Commonwealth?”

    Nora gave him a withering look. “Before you left our friends, did they tell you about Patriot?”   


    James frowned. “I heard rumors.”   


    Nora nodded grimly. “That kid -- the blond one -- that’s Patriot.”


	14. Sacrifice A Pawn

    Hancock scratched his signature across the bottom of the paper before handing it off to Ham.  Fahrenheit sat in the corner, glaring and not saying a word.

    “Don’t give me that look.”

    She sneered as Ham handed the paper to her, folded it up and tucked it inside the pocket of her chestpiece.  A formal declaration handing mayorship of Goodneighbor over to her in case he didn’t make it back. Wasn’t really the Goodneighbor way and he didn’t doubt the town would take to her, but paperwork made it easier to keep up the deals they had with the Minutemen and Bunker Hill.  People liked paper trails.

    “She’d be handy, you know,” Ham said, glancing back at Hancock. “Always has been.”

    Fahrenheit gave him an appreciative nod before returning to glowering at Hancock.  Hancock sighed inwardly as a headache tightened behind his eyes. Once upon a time, he’d have welcomed her company and the reckless, adrenaline-laden run into raider territory to fuck shit up, but now it just gave him anxiety.  Nora had taken off into Nuka World, straight into danger, with a guy who had good intentions but terrible sense. There was a hallucinating, half-feral ex-raider in his home with his children. And now Fahrenheit wanted to hit Nuka World with him and leave Goodneighbor leaderless.

    He’d never worried about the town or about Fahrenheit.  Doing either seemed almost blasphemous, especially when he’d gotten himself into this mess by taking off on Nora’s suicide mission without a second thought or a glance back.

    But there he was, practically crippled at the idea of losing either, close to begging his oldest friend to stay put where she’d be safe.

    “Look, Fahr,” he said once Ham had left, throwing back a pair of Mentats. “I’m not gonna demand you stay behind.”

    She lifted a skeptical eyebrow at him but said nothing. 

    “I’m just askin’, okay?  Do a sentimental junkie a solid and keep shit together here at home.”

    There was tense silence and then her expression relaxed a fraction.  She gave a curt nod and he heaved a sigh of relief.

    “You have to take me on the next one,” she yelled after him as he grabbed his bag and headed out.  He cringed, hoping sincerely that there wouldn’t be a next one.

    A few hours later, he’d restocked and repacked, cleaned his shotgun, and bolstered his jangling nerves with a few shots and some Jet.  He was ready to hit the road, anxiety be damned.

    “When was the last time you traveled alone?”

    Hancock started and whipped around, heart jumping into his throat.  A pair of familiar yellow eyes met him from under a dark eave and he swore.

    “Shit, Nicky, warn a guy before you pull that creepin’ in the shadows bit,” he growled, lowering his shotgun as Nick took a nonchalant draw off his cigarette.

    “You’re jumpy,” he observed dryly, “Where you headed?”

    “Like you don’t already know,” Hancock retorted, “Why else would you be here?”

    “Where’s Nora?”

    “She went west with James,” Hancock said, “That’s where I’m headed.”

    Nick nodded thoughtfully and tossed his spent butt aside. “Got all kinds of news pouring into Diamond City,” he said, “Big raider town off to the west with some new leaders who are claiming territory left and right.”

    “It’s a lot more complicated than that.”

    “Why don’t you fill me in as we walk?”   


    “Since when are you coming?”

    “Since when are you so grumpy?”

    Hancock sighed and shook his head, leading the way through town to the old gates.  It was still fairly early in the afternoon, but heavy gray clouds blanketed the sky, promising a downpour in the coming evening.

    “James got himself in a sticky situation and called Nora to help bail him out,” Hancock said as soon as they had left the vicinity of Goodneighbor, “And they’ve made it a Minuteman problem.”

    “Raider city sounds like a  _ Commonwealth _ problem,” Nick replied, keeping pace easily. “What sort of sticky situation are we talking about here?”   


    “They’re the Overbosses,” Hancock said, “Orchestrating a sneak attack from the inside.”   


    Nick let out a low whistle. “That is complicated.”   


    Hancock nodded tersely. “So why’re you interested?”   


    “Popped up in a case,” Nick replied, “Slaver gangs have been extra active lately, got a couple of missing caravaneers who mighta been taken.”

    Hancock gave him a sharp look and Nick waved a dismissive hand. “Not Martha’s company.  Unaffiliated group, too many hands and not enough experienced guards.”   


    Hancock nodded silently.  Although she was just as capable as Nora and Fahrenheit, the last place he wanted her to be was Nuka World.

    “You doing alright, Hancock?” Nick asked after a short, tense silence, eyes glowing in the falling darkness. 

    “M’fine,” Hancock grunted back, focusing his attention on scanning the streets ahead for threats.  They’d set out on the safest route, skirting Diamond City and Hangman’s Alley, but it was still Boston after dark and he didn’t have Nora’s textbook memory of the city streets.

    “You seem rattled,” Nick continued and Hancock grit his teeth. “Something bothering you?”

    “Same old, same old.”

    Nick gave him a skeptical look but didn’t say anything else.  Hancock silently thanked him, not wanting to discuss the ever-present anxiety that had been driving him to distraction in the last few weeks.  He just wanted to get to Nuka World, get this incredibly insane plan over with, and go home.

 

    James pulled back on the wrench with a grimace, forcing the bolt as tight as it could go.  When it had locked and wouldn’t budge further, he dropped the wrench and sat back with a grimace.  Nora handed him a canister of room temperature water.

    “It’s better than nothing,” she said, looking up at the power armor in front of them.  They were both sitting on the floor in front of it, surrounded by tools and empty oil cans.

    James rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”   


    She shrugged. “I couldn’t have done any better,” she replied, “Too bad we couldn’t get Danse in here to take care of it.”   


    “He’d trash everything but the frame,” James said, “None of this looks... _ soldierly _ .”

    Nora followed his gaze up to the mismatched pieces, some reinforced with barbed wire and metal mesh, and nodded absently.  James let out a groan and yawned widely.

    “I’m going to hit the sack,” he said, “You coming?”

    “In a bit.”   


    He was asleep in seconds, lying nearly face-down on the bed, one arm dangling off limply.  Nora rose, bones creaking, and wandered to one of the glassless windows overlooking Nuka Town.  She sighed and rolled her shoulders, undoing the sling Mackenzie had put her arm in so she could stretch it.  It still ached, but had dulled considerably over the course of the evening.

    Dogmeat padded up to join her, blinking sleepily and nudging his nose against her hand.  She scratched his ear absently, still watching the settlement below. It sounded much like Goodneighbor did at night -- raucous laughter and the occasional shatter of glass bottles, the hum of chatter below -- but it had none of the familiarity or comfort of Goodneighbor.

    As she stretched her fingers and wrist, ignoring the twinges of pain, she wondered idly how Liam had gotten to Nuka World.  Allie Filmore said he’d been heading for Diamond City and she had managed to track him there, but he’d left shortly after arriving, going northeast, and his trail ran cold outside Bunker Hill.  It bothered her that slaver gangs could be grabbing victims right under her nose, especially when her Minutemen did so much to keep the roads clear, and that a place like Nuka World had a chance to grow and fortify without even a whisper.  

    Dogmeat whined and nudged her hand again.  Deep in thought, she’d stopped scratching him.  She smiled and fell into a sofa nearby. She patted her thigh to invite him up and he joined her gleefully, licking her face once before settling beside her.

    “You’re a good boy,” she told him quietly, kissing his fluffy head.

 

    Virgil huffed and sat back, letting Charon’s arms fall with a muffled thump in the gray dust.  The ghoul groaned and twitched but didn’t wake up. A sickly green rash of some sort had begun to spread from the radscorpion wound, dark and strange like pond scum.  He’d used the last Stimpak on him but it seemed to do little more than close the wound, sealing in whatever infection or venom the creature had left behind.

    He glanced around for the fiftieth time, hoping that, by some miracle, he’d see a break in the radioactive fog and confirmation that he was going in the right direction, but no such luck.  Everything was still green and hazy in all directions.

    He downed a quick mouthful of water and hooked the canteen back onto his belt, picked up Charon’s arms, and continued on.

 

    “What's wrong, Tin Man? Having trouble finding the Wizard? Personally, I would have figured you for the Scarecrow.”

    James grit his teeth and turned in a quick circle, looking for the source of the voice.  He’d cleared most of the damn park, from the trash-riddled entrance to the trash-riddled tunnels underneath, fought off an ungodly number of ferals, been sprayed with radiation, and sweated his ass off in the Power Armor, but the fucker had still managed to evade them.

    “Only a fuckin’ coward hides,” Gage muttered behind him, gripping his rifle and scowling into the darkness of the old theater.  James didn’t reply.

    A short  _ bang _ echoed down into the theater.  James took a step back and looked up, lifting his rifle towards the noise.  It had come from the balcony over the stage.

    “I have to admit, I didn’t think you’d make it this far.”

    A tall, glowing ghoul, dressed in a strange suit and hat, stepped out of the shadows to the edge of the theater.  James took another step back and kept his rifle lifted.

    “I can tell you’re different than the usual raiders, so I won’t bother with my usual tricks and illusions,” the ghoul continued.  The strange bang went off again and he disappeared in a cloud of smoke. 

    “What the fuck?” Gage hissed, looking around wildly.  There was a pop, a flash, and the ghoul was standing on the ground with them.  James eyed him up and down, thoroughly confused. He was wearing an impeccably-kept purple suit, the lapels shiny and glittering under the glow of his own skin.  The general style of the ensemble made James think of Hancock’s frock coat, though this piece had obviously been made to be flashy and noticeable and had also been kept in peak condition. 

    “When the bombs fell, everything changed,” the ghoul said, “ _ We  _ changed.  And somehow…I received a gift -- actual magic!”

    “Right,” James replied, eyebrows lifted behind his helmet.  Was this guy going feral?

    The ghoul smirked knowingly at him. “The stuff of legends.  Would you like to see some?”   


    “Not particularly,” James said, “I’m kind of in a hurry, not in the mood for monologuing.”

    The ghoul’s smirk darkened. “I am Oswald the Outrageous,” he declared, taking a step back and lifting his arms out to his sides. “And no matter what you do, I can heal my friends.  Up!”

    A puff of green smoke billowed out from the flaps of his coat and the Geiger counter inside James’s suit began buzzing.  Gage swore and fired a shot; when James turned to see what had happened, a feral -- whom he’d been almost certain was dead -- dragged itself to its feet and lunged for him.  He shot and missed, the feral’s nails scraping against his chest plate raggedly.

    “Son of a bitch!” he yelled, stumbling back again and firing.  Gage was shooting wildly as ferals grabbed for him, bullets pinging off of metal chairs and old tile.  James turned to where Oswald had been standing and unloaded his rifle.

    “No!” the ghoul yelled, falling forward. “No!  We will protect what is ours!”

    With that, he was gone in another bang and smoke cloud.  James yelled in frustration as Gage gunned down the last resurrected feral.

    “Where’d that bastard go?” he growled, stalking over to James.  He was covered in grime and feral blood but seemed unharmed.

    “Join me on the roof of King Cola’s castle,” Oswald’s voice declared from the hidden PA system, “And we’ll put an end to this production once and for all.”   


    James dropped his rifle and unsnapped his helmet, wiping sweat off his forehead and breathing heavily.

    “How about we just nuke the place?” he asked, turning to Gage. “Nobody needs this shit park anyway, right?”

    The look Gage gave him made it clear that wasn’t an option, so, with a grim sigh, he replaced his helmet and picked up his rifle.

    “Let’s go.”

 

    It didn’t take long for them to find a working elevator that would take them to the roof.  They rode in silence, James hunched over in his power armor, reviewing in his head all the stupid decisions he’d made that led him to this point.

_ We will protect what is ours. _

    How likely was it that he could convince Oswald to leave the park peacefully?

    Not very.

    How likely was it that Gage would be cool with that decision and not question his commitment as Overboss?

_ Not very. _

    The elevator stopped with a shudder and the doors clanged open.  James stepped out onto the roof of the castle, glancing around warily.  His Geiger counter was clicking steadily. He could see the leaking barrels stacked in the corner and glanced over at Gage, but the raider didn’t seem to care much.

_ Bang. _

    Oswald appeared in his usual puff of smoke, standing on a catwalk looking down on them. “You raiders are all the same.”   


    James took a cautious step forward, keeping his rifle down.  If he had to do this, he was going to do it quickly, not drag it out with more smoke and mirrors.

    “I’m not going to let you kill any more of my friends,” Oswald continued, “This is  _ our _ home!”

    James saw Gage roll his eyes but ignored it. “You do realize that your friends are  _ feral ghouls _ , right?”

    Oswald scowled, clenching the railing in front of him. “They’re not feral!  They’re sick!”

    His stomach dropped a bit and he was suddenly glad Nora had excused herself from this particular park.  He knew she didn’t buy into the ghoulism as a curable disease crap, but it would have made things significantly difficult for her -- and him -- if she’d been there to listen to Oswald.

    “Can we please just waste this freak and go home?” Gage asked, interrupting Oswald’s tirade about feral ghouls.  Oswald bristled but didn’t respond, eyes fixed on James.

    “How many have you branded  _ ferals _ and needlessly slaughtered?  How many of them have you labeled monsters when they can’t help what they’ve become?”   


    James rolled his shoulders under the armor and took a deep breath. “Ghouls like your friends,” he said, “It’s too late.  They’re gone. You should leave, too.”

    “So you can exterminate us?” Oswald demanded, leaning forward with fury in his withered face. “Not a chance!”   


    In the days they’d spent at Nuka World, Nora had given him a few lessons in shooting with a rifle.  He set his jaw and thought about her knelt next to him, correcting his grip and whispering tips in his ear as he lined up a shot.

    “We’re going to find a cure!” Oswald continued, either oblivious to James’s rifle or uncaring of it. “We’re going to find a cure and then we’ll drive you scum out of here!”   


    He had barely finished his sentence when the bullet left the barrel with a sharp crack.  Red bloomed on the white shirt of Oswald’s suit, scarlet spreading from a hole under his ribcage. The ghoul looked down, surprise in his features, and stumbled back.  James let his rifle fall as Oswald did, slumping over onto the catwalk, trying to speak but unable to do more than let out a few incoherent gurgles.

    Out of the corner of his eye, James could see Gage smiling at the fallen ghoul with grim satisfaction.  Disgust curling inside him, he turned and stomped away.


	15. The Game

    “So...remind me again what the point of this game was?”   


    “You throw the ball,” Nora explained, holding up the round hunk of plastic. “Whichever hole you get it into is how many points you get.  The more points you get, the more tickets you earn. The more tickets you earn, the better prizes you can get.”

    “I didn’t think they had mini nukes in the prize terminal back then.”   


    Nora rolled her eyes. “Of course they didn’t,” she said, “It was...regular stuff.”

    James picked up one of the balls and inspected it. “Like Nuka Cola lunchboxes?”   


    “Hey, those were cool back then,” Nora replied with a smile, “I had one up until like, tenth grade.”

    James shook his head and underhanded the ball onto the track.  It rolled up lazily and fell back down without clearing the lip at all.  It clunked heavily on the floor and James gave Nora a blank look.

    “You gotta throw it with more force than a limp noodle could muster,” she replied, “But not so hard you overshoot it.  Here, look.”

    She grabbed the ball and swung.  It rolled up and over the lip, landing in one of the holes with a  _ thunk _ .

    “See?  A hundred points isn’t bad to start out with.”

    “At that rate, it’ll take us forever,” James said, grabbing up the other balls.

    “Well, we’ve got plenty of cash,” Nora replied, thumbing the stack of prewar bills in her pocket.  Twice the amount she’d paid on her mortgage once upon a time, and it was virtually useless now. James ignored her and hopped up onto the skeeball machine, leaning over the cracked glass and dropping the balls directly into the 500 point hole.

    “James, that’s cheating,” Nora complained, frowning at him.  It was his turn to roll his eyes.

    “Look, when we’ve done what we came here to do, you can come back and play all you want,” he said, “I’ll even play with you.  But we need all the prizes  _ yesterday, _ so  _ today _ we’re cheating, okay?”

    “You’re no fun.”

    “You’re extra chipper,” James replied as the machine blared his win and spat out a long roll of tickets.

    “Only one more park to clear out.  I’m seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.”

    James didn’t reply.  There was a light at the end of the tunnel, but for him, it was just the emptiness of the wasteland.  Nora had a home, a family, and a purpose waiting for her in the Commonwealth. He didn’t have so much as a bed to call his own.  He didn’t have a home in Megaton anymore even if he’d wanted to go back and most of the caps that Nora had paid him all those months ago had been lost or spent already.  He’d burnt his bridges with the Brotherhood, the Minutemen wouldn’t take him, and although they treated him decently, the Railroad was a spy agency first and foremost. Not friends, not home.

    Nora nudged him. “So what actually happened at Kiddie Kingdom?” she asked, voice dropping. “Gage has been kissing your ass ever since and you’re more despondent than usual.”

    “We went in, got sprayed with radiation, and killed a bunch of ferals,” James replied, shrugging.  He popped another arcade token into the machine and grabbed the balls as they plopped out.

    “Sprayed with radiation?”   


    “It was hooked into some built-in system,” James said, “Looks like the park used to spray kids with Nuka Cola.  Sounds like a parent’s worst nightmare, to be honest. What exactly were you prewar people on?”   


    Nora dodged the subject change with ease. “Who hooked it up to irradiated water?”

    “How would I know?”   


    Nora studied him for a moment.  He turned away and underhanded the skeeball up the ramp.  It jumped the lip and landed in the hundred-point circle.

    “Thought maybe you figured out the work up,” she said, shrugging. “One of the ghouls, maybe?”

    “There were only feral ones there,” James answered, tossing another ball with more force than the first.

    “Feral  _ now _ ,” Nora replied, “Maybe one of them still had it together until recently.”

    “What’s it matter now?” James asked, “The park’s clear and the Pack’s having a blast in it.”

    “Guess it doesn’t matter,” Nora said, eyeing him. “But, you know, my Bullshit Meter may not be as finely honed as some, but I can at least tell when you’re lying to me.”

    James threw the third ball, which jumped the lip with ease and slammed into the glass barrier above, cracking it.  He sighed and ran a hand through his ragged mop of hair.

    “Had to keep our cover intact,” he muttered, kicking away the skeeball as it fell off the track and to his feet. “Us or him.”

    Nora nodded and leaned against the wall, arms folded over her chest as she studied James for a moment.  He plopped down onto the edge of the arcade machine, staring at his feet dejectedly.

    “Whatever happened,” she said slowly, “Could it be changed right now?”   


    James gave her a pointed look. “Not unless you’ve got the  _ Necronomicon  _ hidden somewhere,” he replied, “Or God owes you a favor.”

    A small smile tugged at the corner of Nora’s mouth. “I’m always pleasantly impressed with the breadth of your literary knowledge.”

    “The library in 101 was decently stocked by the original inhabitants,” James replied, not bothering to add that it had been one of the few places Butch DeLoria didn’t think to look for him first.

    Nora nodded. “Well, I don’t have a copy of the  _ Necronomicon _ and I think at this point,  _ I  _ owe  _ God _ a few favors,” she said, “So that leaves us with the complete and utter inability to change what happened at Kiddie Kingdom.”   


    “Are you going somewhere with this, or just trying to make me feel shittier?”

    Nora glanced down at her boots and then back up at him. “I don’t advocate this attitude about everything you do,” she said, “But...whatever you did, it’s gotten us one step closer to taking this city of assholes down, which means it needed to be done.”

    “If I had left Gage behind or just...given it a bit more thought…”

    “Maybe,” Nora interjected, “You know why I agreed to this crazy plan of yours in the first place?”   


    James pretended to think for a moment and then snapped his fingers. “My irresistible charm.”

    Nora coughed. “No.”

    “Enlighten me, then.”

    “Because you’re completely correct that a group of raiders this size, with these resources and these fortifications, would be disastrous for the Commonwealth,” Nora replied, her voice low. “And in the Commonwealth are my children.”   


    James glanced around and swallowed hard. “I get the maternal instinct, Nora, but it doesn’t mean jack shit for my conscience at the moment.”

    “Fine,” Nora answered with a shrug, “But you’re not getting any hate from my end.  I went through hell and then some to get my son and daughter and I don’t really care what it takes to keep them safe.”

 

    Cappy’s Cafe was dank and warm, like always, but Gage didn’t mind.  It was better than the Parlor and those sneering assholes, and better than drinking alone.  Shank twisted the cap off a beer and tipped it in his direction.

    “Sending out some feelers soon,” he said, “Soon as they get the bottling plant back.”

    “Shouldn’t be long at all,” Gage replied, “They’re efficient.”

    Shank took a long drink and set his bottle down roughly. “Something’s still bothering you.”

    “She is,” Gage said, “But I’ll get used to her.”   


    “Better, unless you like being the odd man out,” Shank said, smirking a little. “Haven’t seen the gangs this revved up since someone spiked the water fountains.”   


    Gage didn’t answer, staring into his bottle for a few moments. “How much you know about the Commonwealth, Shank?”

    Shank scoffed and gave him a small, dark smile. “Everything I can.  That’s my job, as you well know.”   


    “Major players.  Who’re they?”   


    “Biggest one’s the Minutemen General,” Shank replied, “Woman by the name of Wilson.  Came outta nowhere and brought ‘em back from the brink, apparently. Bit of a savage in a fight is what I hear.”   


    Gage nodded. “That I’ve heard,” he said, “Who else?”   


    “Goodneighbor and Diamond City.”   


    “Who runs them?”

    “Last I heard, Diamond City lost it’s mayor,” Shank said, “Some bullshit about spies, I don’t know.”

    “Goodneighbor?”   


    “Mayor Hancock,” Shank said, “Ghoul.  Been around for a few years. Doesn’t like raiders around his town but he’s got a lot of connections in chems and weapons.”

    Gage sat up and leaned forward. “Hancock,” he said, “I knew I recognized the name.”

    Shank lifted his brows in silent question.

    “Who’s he run with?”   
    Shank shrugged. “Not sure he runs with anybody,” he said, “It’s been a while since I was in Goodneighbor.”

    “Was he in close with anyone?”

    Shank leaned back and seemed to think for a moment. “Had a bodyguard,” he said, “Mercenary or ex-raider or something.”

    “A woman?”

    “What’s it matter?”   
    Gage shifted and leaned forward. “She mentioned him.”

    Shank seemed to think for a minute. “I’ll ask around,” he said, “But I think you’re barking up the wrong tree here, Gage.”

 

    James turned to his fake wife, ready to say something, but stopped at the look on her face.

    “I’m sorry, did I fucking stutter?” she asked the Disciple standing in front of her, “Or am I forgetting who’s the boss around here?”

    The Disciple, face hidden behind a heavy metal mask, shifted and huffed audibly.  Nora’s scowl deepened.

    “You want a piece of this beautiful pie we’re baking here for you, you’re going to put in the work to earn it,” she said, “It’s a fucking scouting mission.  Get it done, report back here, and be quick about it.”

    The Disciple stiffened. “Yes,  _ ma’am _ .”

    Nora glared until the woman was out of sight, joining up with a pair of her cronies near the west exit of Nuka Town.  James let out a dreamy sigh and leaned over the table toward Nora, hand under his chin.

    “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”   


    Nora turned back to him, brows furrowed. “Don’t be weird.”

    “Let’s take twenty minutes up in the Grille and you can boss me around like that.”   


    Something flickered across Nora’s features and her expression went blank.  James pulled back. He’d overstepped his boundaries, he knew it, and now if she didn’t gut him, her terrifying husband would --

    “These assholes call themselves raiders,” she said, looking around at the occupants milling around the old Nuka Town fountain. “Danse has trained seventeen-year-old recruits with bigger balls and less attitude.”

    James straightened and tried to smile nonchalantly. “They  _ are _ raiders,” he said, “Used to getting the biggest payout for the least amount of effort.”

    Nora scoffed. “I’m going to shoot that Disciple bitch myself,” she said, “ _ Why do I have to do it,  _ whaa whaa whaa…”

    “They’d probably like you a bit better if you were just slightly nicer, you know.  They like me.”

    “I think you’re confusing me with someone who gives a shit about being liked by raiders.”

    “Just sayin’,” James replied, “You ready to go?”   


    Nora finished her Nuka Orange and set the bottle down roughly. “Been ready for days.”


	16. Storm's A-Comin'

    X6-88 had never gotten to know Nora Wilson very well.  Most of his knowledge about her came from rumor and reputation, gossip he heard around the Institute and aboveground.  Little had changed after she destroyed the Institute -- the praise was more gratifying, sometimes bordering on worship, though still mostly the same.  People liked her because she protected them from raiders, she’d taken down the Institute, and she’d scared off the Brotherhood. She made the Commonwealth what the people wanted it to be.

    He had been on a surface mission when she invaded the Institute with the Minutemen.  He’d heard the emergency call over his communicator, but the teleporter had been shut off.  By the time he made it back, the CIT ruins and the Institute beneath it were nothing more than a crater.  He’d stood there at the edge, staring at the water spilling out of the river and into the crater, unsure of how to feel or what to think.

    It was an unsettling feeling to relive, in a strange town outside the Commonwealth, out of his uniform, surrounded by people he knew in name and reputation only.  Especially when he was beginning to have second thoughts about the woman who had destroyed the Institute.

    He stood a bit apart from the group, far enough away not to accidentally bump or touch anyone but close enough that he could still hear and see.  Nora had made the introductions earlier and everyone had treated him with detached courtesy, though he could feel Preston Garvey’s suspicious gaze on him.  He let his gaze wander some as Nora and James talked, taking in the people he’d agreed to work with.

    If there were ever a group that embodied the phrase “ragtag”, they would be it.  There was the ghoul and the prototype synth, dusty and worn, both chain-smoking near the opposite edge of the group; a vaguely familiar Minuteman Nora had introduced as Danse, a rather loud and uncouth woman with a bat, a gangly and road-worn mercenary (also chain-smoking), another ghoul in combat armor, even a Super Mutant, though it had listened to two or three minutes of Nora’s strategizing before stomping off in obvious boredom.

    “...the bottling plant is the only place left,” Nora was saying as X6 pulled his attention back to her, “We’re not going to assign it to a gang, so it can be a fallback position for us.”

    “Better fortified than this place,” James added, leaning back on two legs of his chair as he pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket.  Did  _ everyone _ above ground smoke?

    Nora nodded. “It’s the biggest of the parks,” she said, “But it would be the easiest to defend, and we’ll leave some caches behind after we clear it.”

    “Aren’t they going to get suspicious if you don’t dole out the new territory?”   


    Nora turned to the rifle-toting mercenary and gave him a wry smile. “We’re going to make a big production of announcing who gets it,” she said, “Playing up the competition between the three gangs.  Keep their eyes on each other and off us.”

    There was a murmur of understanding and agreement, then a clap of thunder shook the old house.  James jumped and wobbled back in his chair before Nora caught one rung with her foot and righted him.

    “Storm’s coming,” the redhead with the bat announced, glancing out the window and then back to Nora, who nodded.

    “Let’s call it a night, then,” she said, “Get situated before we get rained in.”

    The group began to disperse, talking in low voices as they began unpacking scattered bags and debating who would take what watch.  X6 stayed where he was for a moment, unsure of what to do or say, if anything. Everyone ignored him, going about settling in with barely a glance in his direction.  He looked around for Nora, hoping she might have some direction to give him, but she was deep in conversation with the ghoul, edging toward the door with her back to him.

    He squared himself and picked up his laser rifle, then strode across the room and took the stairs two at a time to the upper floors.  If anything, he could take guard duty.

 

    “So what happened to your arm?” 

    Nora looked up to meet Hancock’s hard gaze, lit by the half-finished cigarette between his lips, and cringed inwardly.  His eyes were dark, hooded, boring into her knowingly.

    “Think I didn’t notice you trying to hide it?”

    Nora sighed. “I wasn’t trying to hide it,” she said, “I just didn’t want to bring it up while we had other things to think about.  I didn’t want to distract you.”

    Hancock scoffed. “Sunshine, I know when something’s up,” he said, “You ain’t foolin’ me.”   


    “A break a couple days ago,” Nora replied, “It’s fine, though.  I’m fine.”

    Hancock nodded and tossed his cigarette aside, reaching for her arm.  Nora flinched but let him untie the leather brace she’d slipped on that morning to cover the damage.  He stared down at her new scar, long and ragged, running his fingers along the edges of the yellowing bruises.  His touch was gentle but she could see his shoulders stiffen.

    “Hell of a break.”

    She pulled back. “Yeah,” she agreed, “But everything is fine. I’m fine.”

    “When you say that, I know you’re the opposite of fine.”

    “That isn’t true,” Nora shot back.  Hancock looked up at her beneath the brim of his tricorn.  The storm was rolling in fast, casting long shadows over his face.  He looked dark, menacing, but she could see the undercut of worry in his black eyes.

    “What happened?”

    Nora sighed inwardly and grabbed his hands, pulling him flush against her. “Normal wasteland bullshit,” she said, “Do the details matter?”

    She leaned in to kiss him but he pulled back, scowling.  Nora made a noise of irritation.

    “John, stop it.”   


    “No,” he snapped back, pulling out of her embrace. “Fuck, Nora.  I didn’t want you to go anywhere near this fuckin’ place and you do anyway, then you come back like -- like this…”

    “Like what, John?” Nora asked, crossing her arms. “Don’t like my imperfections?”   


    “Sunshine, you know that ain’t even close to what I’m talkin’ about,” Hancock replied, glaring at her. “Don’t insult me like that.”

    “Then what are you talking about?  What do I look like?”

    “You look like I came close to losing you,” Hancock said, sighing and rubbing his forehead.  Tense silence fell between them. Nora loosened her stance and grabbed his hands again.

    “John, what’s all this about?”   


    “I’m not allowed to worry about you?”

    Nora gave him a pointed look but didn’t say anything.  Hancock dropped her hands and turned away.

    “Forget it.”

    Nora reached for him, her hand catching his elbow gently. “Not a chance,” she said, pulling him back. “No running, remember?”   


    “I’m not runnin’, love,” he muttered, “I’m just trying to stay afloat.”

    “What do you mean?”   


    He sighed and allowed her to pull him close again, leaning her head against his chest as they stood there without speaking.  The silence stretched for several minutes before he placed a rough hand against her head, threading his fingers through her hair.

    “I didn’t use to worry about anyone,” he said, “Didn’t need to.”

    Nora nodded against his chest as he chuckled darkly to himself.

    “I know,” she answered, leaning back and placing a palm on his cheek.  He’d never been one for touchy-feely, soft affection, but Nora was all about it and he’d come to crave it from her.

    “I know you’re still adjusting.  Thank you.”

    “You don’t have to thank me, love,” he murmured, leaning into her touch.  She smiled, eyes bright in the darkness, and kissed him, her small body curving into his as the rain pounded on the roof insistently.  He hugged her against him, hands on her back as the muscles flexed and tensed under his fingers. She tasted like Nuka Cherry, lips parted and insistent, her arms around him pinning them together.

    “John,” she breathed against his mouth, “Why did I leave without you?”

    “I’ve been asking myself the same question,” he answered, breathless, trailing his lips along her jaw to her ear.  He felt her breath hitch and she pressed her hands into his coat, roaming and pushing aside bothersome layers of fabric.

    Her hands were warm, fingertips pressed along the uneven planes of his skin.  She only let go of him long enough to strip away their clothes, taking him there on the worn bedrolls, rough and insistent with the rain to drown them out.

    Afterward, he lied there, staring at the ceiling and trying to catch his breath as Nora curled against him, one leg hooked possessively over his waist.  She smiled in satisfaction, sweaty strands of hair fanned over his bicep. She kissed his side and mumbled something he couldn’t understand.

    “Get some sleep, Sunshine,” he murmured back, pulling the sleeping bag over them and closing his eyes.

    James lit his third cigarette of the evening, breathing deeply as he let his gaze wander lazily around the room.  A shooter of Jet would have been better, but he’d put his name in for watch duty and didn’t want to look like a jackass when it inevitably popped up.

    He’d parked himself on the far end of the room, beside a grimy but intact bay window, in a moth-eaten armchair where he could look out on the darkness as rain lashed against the glass.  An oil lantern burned low on a crooked side table nearby, the illumination just enough for Danse to cast a large, ominous shadow over him suddenly.

    “Mind if I join you?”   


    James jumped but attempted to cover it with a languid back stretch. “Be my guest.”

    Danse nodded a thank you and settled in the other armchair.  He sat rigidly upright, hands on his knees, much like Charon tended to if made to sit.  James took a long drag off his cigarette and blew the smoke out to the side, glancing out over the room again. 

    “She and Hancock went upstairs after the meeting,” Danse said suddenly.  James looked over at him sharply.

    “What?”

    “You keep looking around,” Danse said, nodding to the room at large. “Like you’re looking for her.”

    “Her?”   


    “Nora.”   


    James coughed and felt his face flush stupidly. “I just -- uh -- wanted to ask her something.”

    Danse met his eyes for a moment, eyebrows slightly raised, then looked away.

    James wasn’t sure whether to feel embarrassed or indignant.  It couldn’t have been  _ that  _ fucking obvious, could it?   


    He cleared his throat and straightened, rubbing his thumb anxiously against the filter of his cigarette.  His little corner suddenly felt small and crowded. He looked away again, where Cait, Preston, and Nick were settled in a loose huddle, and felt eyes on him.  He glanced back towards Danse and briefly caught his eye before he returned to staring out the window. James took a loose puff of his cigarette and stubbed it out in a cracked ashtray.  He was reaching for a fourth when Danse cleared his throat.

    “Were you...Railroad?”

    He said it in a low, cautious voice, then looked away immediately.  James frowned. Secrecy was a given in the general public, but at present, he doubted it mattered much.

    “Still am,” he said, fiddling with his crumpled pack of Lucky Strikes. “Not as much work for us as there used to be, though.”

    Danse nodded attentively. “And X6-88...he’s a…”   


    “Courser,” James finished, “Institute guard dog.  Synth catcher. Secret police.”   


    Danse nodded again, rubbing his palms on his knees. “They knew all the runaways.”

    “In theory,” James replied with a shrug, “They’re kind of assholes, though.  Brainwashed all to hell as you can imagine. That one shot at me.”   


    He rolled his eyes upward towards the third floor, where X6 had stationed himself on a dilapidated balcony to keep first watch.

    “Shot at you?”

    “ _ Target practice _ ,” James said, “Nora seems to know him so we have to keep him around.”   


    “Nora knows a Courser?”   


    James shrugged. “Guess from the time she spent inside the Institute.  She wasn’t forthcoming with details.”

    Danse nodded once again, slower and more contemplative.  He seemed crestfallen, his brow wrinkled with what might have been disappointment.  James was halfway through lighting another cigarette when realization dawned on him.

    “Are you..?” he asked, staring incredulously at Danse.  The man clenched his fists briefly and stared hard through the rain-soaked window.  James cringed inwardly, again realizing too late how personal his question was.

    He sighed and cursed himself silently. “Look, ignore me,” he said, “I wasn’t trying to pry.  It just sort of...popped out. I talk too much.”   


    Danse tore his gaze away from the window. “I didn’t think you were talking too much,” he said, “I appreciate your honesty.”   


    “Have you asked Nora?” James asked, “She seems like the best source for anything Institute-related.”

    “She doesn’t always give complete answers.”

    James made a small noise of agreement.  He understood why, but he had noticed Nora’s penchant for answering halfway or stopping herself before giving out details.  If Danse was looking for information, her method of discussing the Institute would have been frustrating at best.

    “When we’re done with this cesspool, I can take you to HQ,” he offered, “There’s records and other agents who might be more in the know.”

    Danse shook his head and shifted in his seat. “You don’t need to go through that trouble.”   


    “No trouble.  Hanging out with you is better than hoofing it alone.”

    “I’m not a great conversationalist.  You may have noticed.”

    James shrugged. “I talk enough for us both.  You can just sit there and...enhance the scenery.”

    The words were out of his mouth before he had time to think about them.  Warmth crept up his neck and he felt sixteen again, sitting in the Vault cafeteria with Amata and Susie glancing his way and giggling periodically.

    Danse looked over at him, head tilted slightly. “Um...okay,” he said, “That would be...very helpful.”   


    The warmth in James’s neck bled down to his chest, sitting like a warm drink behind his breastbone.  He smiled and hoped he didn’t look like a fool.

    “Always happy to help,” he said.  Danse smiled back and James felt himself melt into the cushions.  Time to get the hell out of Nuka World.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOOO I'm back!
> 
> And on summer break. So expect this fic to finish up very soon! And more on the way!


	17. Quantum Fun

    Virgil was beginning to think he’d gone insane, or perhaps died and gone to hell.  

    It felt like he’d been walking for days, dragging Charon’s limp body behind him, looking for an end to the radioactive haze.  He knew the Glowing Sea was big -- he’d chosen it for a reason -- but it couldn’t have been  _ that _ big, could it?

    He tried to think back to his flight from the Institute, desperate for landmarks, signs he was getting to the edge,  _ anything _ , but the memories were a haze of panic and pain. 

    He passed the wreckage of a prewar airplane, massive wings jutting out of the scorched earth, rusted almost to the underlying frame.  He dragged Charon through a puddle of glowing muck, staring ahead to the next milestone he could see -- a collapsed highway, concrete draped over the black ground like a hulking gray snake.  Virgil stopped for a moment, sucking in air as his vision wobbled. He was thirsty, hot, and exhausted, probably close to collapse himself.

    Swallowing, his throat parched and tender, he kept going.  There was a road ahead, or at least what looked like a road.  He couldn’t be certain he wasn’t just wandering in circles and seeing things.

    He hit the collapsed highway and stopped, checking the Geiger counter in his pocket.  The rads had dropped, though they were still way above any semblance of safe. Virgil glanced down at Charon.  The ghoul was still out cold, though it looked like, for now, he’d stopped bleeding. Virgil took a heavy breath and stuffed the Geiger counter back in his pocket.

    He leaned down to grab Charon’s arms when a figure caught his eye.  A few hundred feet away, on the other side of the collapsed highway, someone was coming.  Virgil blinked a few times, certain that dehydration and exhaustion were beginning to lead to hallucinations.  The person was still there, some sort of long rifle slung over his shoulder. Virgil stared and the person stared back.

    Heart thudding, he grabbed Charon’s arm and tugged, straining as he moved forward inch by inch.  If there was someone out there, then he had to be at the edge. He huffed and struggled, moving forward slowly but surely.  The figure didn’t change, standing stock-still as he approached. A rifle of some sort was slung over his shoulder, hanging by a worn leather strap, and he was wearing a hat much like Nora had the last time he’d seen her.  Coincidence, or was it some mark of the Minutemen?

    “Easy, stranger.”

    As Virgil got within speaking distance, the stranger took a step back and reached for his rifle.  Virgil dropped Charon’s arm and reached for his helmet, yanking it off and gasping in fresh air. The green haze was gone and he could smell the pungent earthiness of mud and animal scat.

    “I’m not armed,” he said, collapsing to one knee. “We need help.”

    The man didn’t loosen his grip on his rifle but glanced cautiously towards Charon. “What happened?”   


    “Radscorpion,” Virgil said, “He needs medical attention immediately.”

    The man nodded and took a step closer. “What’s your name?”   


    “Virgil,” he replied, “Call -- call General Wilson from the Minutemen.  She knows me.”   


    “You know the General, huh?” the man asked and Virgil nodded vigorously.  He unhooked a canteen from his belt and handed it to Virgil, then pulled an odd handgun off a holster around his thigh.

    “Watch out,” he said, and loaded a round cartridge into it.  A flare gun. 

    “He needs help quickly.”   


    “Settlement’s fifteen minutes away and they’ll be here in ten,” the man replied calmly, giving him a gentle smile.  He pointed the flare gun towards the sky and shot. Virgil nodded dumbly and watched the scarlet flare arc into the sky, glaringly bright against the gray sky.  He sat back on his butt and took a long gulp from the man’s canteen. The water was cold and fresh, sliding down his throat like liquid gold.

    “We’ll get you fixed up soon.”

    Virgil nodded again and closed his eyes.  His head swam and before he could steady himself, he fell backwards and let everything go black.

 

    “Ma’am, would you like to take point?”   


    Nora looked up and squinted at Danse. “Huh?”

    “At the bottling plant,” he clarified, “Hancock told me you wanted a fireteam to go in and help out.”

    Nora peered around the man to where Hancock was waiting, leaned against a doorframe. “So he did,” she replied, glaring at her husband. “Yeah, I’ll take point.  Can you spot me?”

    “Wherever you need me, ma’am.”

    Nora nodded and stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder and checking the sights on her pistol before shoving it into her hip holster.  She’d said her goodbyes and reassurances to everyone and was ready to move. Time to get things over with.

    “You good here, Preston?”

    Preston nodded. “The Minuteman force is on its way,” he said, “Sunshine Tidings, Abernathy Farm, and Sanctuary are on alert.  Got those maps you found and plenty of flares and ammo.”

    “Remember, you’ve got help on the inside at Safari Kingdom and Nuka Galaxy, so focus on the Gulch and Kiddie Kingdom.”

    Preston nodded. “I won’t forget.”

    Nora felt a sudden lump in her throat. “Don’t be a hero.  Fall back if you have to.”

    Preston nodded again, giving her a reassuring smile. “We will, Nora.  Don’t you try to be a hero, either.”

    She opened her mouth to say something and closed it, throwing her arms around him and squeezing.  He hugged her back, both of them silent for a moment, then stepped away.

    “See you in a few days.”

 

    Nora took point on the trip down to the bottling plant, Danse directly behind her and James and Hancock bringing up the rear as Dogmeat loped easily along on the outskirts of their little group.  No one said much of anything, giving Nora plenty of time to fume silently about the change in plans that had been made without her input. Between that and the humidity clinging to the air from last night’s storm, she was already feeling short-tempered by the time they made it to the front entrance of the bottling plant.

    “Mirelurks,” Danse said, kicking aside a cracked shell poking out of a muddy, abandoned nest. “The inside is probably full of them.”

    “Nukalurks,” James corrected, “They glow, so it’ll be easy to see them, at least.”

    “ _ Nukalurks _ ?” Hancock repeated, “You’re kidding.”

    “They nest in this river of Quantum, and they come out glowing blue,” James said, shrugging. “Raiders and everyone over in the market call them Nukalurks.  Meat’s got a weird taste to it.”

    “I’m sorry, did you say this river is made of Quantum?” Danse asked, “As in, the blue soda?”

    “That’s right.  Pretty whacked.”

    Three pairs of incredulous eyes turned to Nora, who scowled. “Don’t look at me,” she said, “I didn’t invent it.”

    “Wait until you see the rest of the park,” James continued, glancing at Danse. “There’s a place where  _ kids _ were supposed to sit in giant fake teacups and get spun in circles until they barfed.”

    “Barfing was  _ not _ the objective,” Nora interjected, rolling her eyes. “The objective --”

    “How ‘bout we focus on our objective and get this place cleared out?” Hancock interrupted, nudging Nora gently.  She nodded.

    “I’ll stay on point,” she said, taking a tentative step towards the edge of the Quantum river. “James, stay in the middle, Danse and Hancock can take the rear.”

    “Why do I have to stay in the middle?” James grumbled.

    “Because in a small group, it’s the safest spot,” Nora replied, struggling not to fall as she waded into the river.  It went nearly up to her waist, soaking through her boots and pants. It was warm and gritty, not cool like she’d hoped, making the summer heat that much more uncomfortable.  Dogmeat whined at the edge momentarily before plodding in.

    “I can hold my own just fine, thank you,” James replied, splashing into the river, sending waves of ancient soda splashing up Nora’s side. 

    “I’m not saying you can’t,” she growled back, slapping Quantum in his direction. “I’m saying you’re the least experienced and therefore --”

    “Cut it out,” James snapped, dodging the splash and retaliating with his own. “I’m the Overboss, remember?”

    “And you called me to come save your ass,” Nora answered, sloshing Quantum onto his Nuka World shirt. “So get in the middle and  _ deal with it -- _ ”

    “Alright, alright, knock it off,” Hancock interrupted, striding into the river and between Nora and James, his red coat abandoned on the shore. “Leave your bags here or everything is going to get ruined.”   


    Nora and James traded dirty looks but complied, sliding rucksacks off and chucking them onto the shore.  Danse hid them and Hancock’s coat in an overturned garbage bin, covered with ancient paper cups and park flyers, then waded in himself.

    “Let’s go,” Nora said, leading the way into the darkened boat tunnel.  It was cooler inside, Quantum water falling from bottle statues on either side of the river.  Nora pressed her shotgun into her shoulder, scanning for mirelurks, when a recorded voice blared to life.

    “ _ Welcome to the Nuka-Cola World of Refreshment, now featuring a river of Nuka-Cola Quantum! _ ”

    “Shit,” James said, startling and looking around, “What the hell?”

    “It’s just a recording,” Nora replied, “Probably motion activated.”

    “It was a rhetorical question,” James said, giving her a withering look.

    “Nests ahead,” Danse interjected, gesturing.  The river meandered through what appeared to be a miniature prewar town with house and store facades crumbling and rotting on either “shore” as the ceiling dripped and the automated tour guide began spewing facts about Nuka Quantum.  Mud caked everything and trash floated through the water, and up ahead, Nora spotted the nests Danse had seen. Three of them, crowded with mud-speckled eggs.

    “Aim for the underbelly,” Nora said, bracing herself as well as she could in the water.  Her shotgun blast echoed painfully in the empty chamber and eggshells went flying. A mirelurk, its soft flesh practically fluorescent, burst out of the mud and skittered towards them.  A red laser streaked through the air, singing a claw as bullets cracked into the shell. Nora reeled as it lunged at her, nearly knocked off her feet. Two others clawed their way out of their pits, claws clicking in between bursts of gunfire.  Nora scrambled out of the water and onto one of the models, slipping on soaked garbage and bits of slime. One of the ‘lurks, an angry-looking softshell with scars mottling its back, snapped at her leg, tearing through her jeans. She grabbed at one of the models to steady herself and fired one-handed.  Shotgun pellets tore through the crab’s face and it fell back, squirming and hissing in anger. She squeezed again but her gun just clicked; she had to reload.

    “Nora!” she heard Hancock yell as she palmed the front pocket of her shirt to grab another shell.  The mirelurk jabbed at her with one claw, knocking her feet out from under her. Before she had time to realize what was happening, she pitched face-forward into the river.

    It was shockingly cold on her dry upper, knocking her breath out as she struggled to gain her bearings and break the surface.  She flailed as she sucked in dirty water before a hand grabbed the front of her shirt and yanked her up.

    “You alright, love?” Hancock asked as she gasped in air, head spinning.  She coughed and retched, leaning on him as her chest burned. Streams of sticky mirelurk blood floated through the water past her and the upturned bodies slumped lifelessly around them.  Dogmeat splashed over to her, fur soaked and muzzle splattered with blood.

    “Where’s my gun?” she croaked, pushing tendrils of sopping hair out of her face.

    “I’ve got it,” Danse said.  He was holding James by the elbow and her shotgun in his free hand, his laser rifle securely in his holster over his back.  He looked as if he’d barely moved but she could tell from the smell of ozone in the air he’d taken out at least one of the mirelurks.

    “Oh, that’s terrible,” James said, gagging a bit as he leaned forward.  He was soaked through as though he’d also taken a dive into the river.

    “This isn’t going to work, all of us slogging through this shit trying to fight these crabs,” Hancock said and Danse slapped James on the back. “You two go sit up there for a second.  There’s gotta be an easier way to get through this place.”

    “I’m fine,” Nora protested, suppressing a wet cough. “As long as my gun isn’t soaked through --”

    “Stay here,” Hancock muttered in her ear, squeezing her shoulders as they waded across the water to the bank. “Please listen for once.”

    She bit her tongue hard and let him help her back onto a relatively dry spot.  Dogmeat clambered up after her and shook himself violently, sending a spray of water in every direction.  James dragged himself onto the bank last, flopping onto his back in a sopping heap.

    “This seemed a lot simpler in theory,” he said through a hacking cough.  Nora nodded and yanked off one boot. Muddy water dribbled out and she sighed, watching Hancock and Danse disappear around the corner to look for an alternate route.

    “When this is over, I’m going home to take a long nap,” she muttered.  James gave her a silent thumbs up from his position on the floor.

    “I think I inhaled some of that river,” he croaked, “This place sucks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long-awaited chapter! You'll be happy to know that chapter 18 is already half-written (if you've stuck with me this long). Also, I'm still on break for another 5-6 weeks and will try to put out a few more chapters before back to school season.


	18. Soon

    Ten minutes after they left, Danse and Hancock returned, muddy but pleased.

    “There’s a hole in the wall that leads into the old employee areas,” Hancock said, holding out a hand to Nora as she went to hop off the bank and back into the water.  She ignored it and splashed in by herself.

    “The door is terminal locked,” Danse supplied, “There may be security measures on the other side.”   


    “But it’s better than trying to fight and swim at the same time,” Hancock replied firmly, only barely side-eyeing Danse. “Your time to shine, James.”

    The door in question was at the top of a rusty metal staircase, heavy steel bolted shut with rusty magnetic locks.  Dogmeat sniffed it cautiously and whined. Nora shook her head.

    “We don’t know what’s on the other side,” she said, “I don’t like it.”

    “If you’ve got a better idea, I’m all ears, Sunshine,” Hancock replied.  Nora glared.

    “Be ready,” she snapped, loading a pair of shells into her shotgun.  Hancock glared back but didn’t reply. He took up a position beside Nora, pressed to the wall the door opened against with Dogmeat waiting between them, while James strode to the terminal and booted it with a few quick keystrokes.  Danse waited at the head of the stairs, facing the door directly.

    “Terminals aren’t as hard as people make them out to be,” James informed the group, “Especially ones like this, people using them for the same thing a hundred times a day.  See the keyboard? Four numbers are all rubbed down, so that’s probably the code…”

    He tapped a couple numbers out and the terminal beeped obnoxiously.

    “Zero, two, four, and five,” he muttered to himself, then punched in another code.  The terminal squawked again.

    “Don’t lock us out,” Hancock said, “We ain’t got all day to clear this place out.”

    “Don’t get your panties in a knot,” James replied.  He drummed his fingers on the keyboard and squinted.

    “There’s only twenty-four possible combinations of a four-digit code,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “Just gotta figure out which one…”   


    “Try 2044,” Danse said suddenly.  James shrugged and typed it in. The terminal beeped again, but this time, the magnetic locks on the door clicked open.

    “Good guess,” James said, “What gave it away?”

    “According to that voice,” Danse said, gesturing back towards the Quantum river, “it’s the year Nuka Cola was invented.”

    “Nice catch,” Nora replied, “You guys ready?”

    “Ready, ma’am,” Danse answered, gun lifted as she reached for the door handle.  James stepped back, sliding his gun out of its holster.

    Nora nodded and twisted the handle, yanking the door open with a squeal of rusty hinges.  For a second, silence and darkness greeted them on the other side. She peered into the dim hallway beyond, shotgun lifted, palms sweating.  She couldn’t see or hear anything lurking nearby, but something felt off. Dogmeat growled, hackles raised.

    “I don’t like this,” Nora muttered, “We should --”

    The tell-tale shimmer hit her with so much force she went flying backwards into the wall, thudding against the concrete and knocking the air from her lungs.  She crumpled, coughing and gasping, as the assaultron’s stealth field faded and it reached for her with one steel claw.

    “Not today, beautiful!” Hancock yelled over the whir of its processors.  His shotgun blast was deafening in the small space. The assaultron reared back, one arm dented and smoking, and Nora scrabbled for her own gun.  Hancock hauled her up by one arm and they fell through the doorway together. The assaultron lunged for them again, missing by centimeters, and Nora brought the stock of her gun around to connect with its already-damaged arm.  It staggered and a red streak cut through the air, skimming across its shoulder.

    “Keep moving!” Danse shouted, firing twice more.  The stench of scorched metal filled the air and the assaultron whirled, reaching for Danse with the undamaged arm.  Dogmeat latched onto its leg, growling and pulling it off-balance. It hit the ground and twisted, metal scraping against concrete.  It swatted at Dogmeat, red lasers pinging off its black body. Dogmeat dodged the swat with a snarl and snap, his jaws dripping spittle.

    “Get down!” 

    Nora searched frantically for the grenade, eyes landing on James as he leaned through the doorway.  The small canister sailed through the air in a small arc, landing with a ping on the concrete mere feet from Nora and Hancock.  For half a heartbeat, nothing happened; then Hancock pushed himself over her and an electric  _ pop _ , like a fuse blowing, filled the silence.  

    Light flashed and static crackled and the assaultron began to spasm, limbs locking as if it were in the throes of some sort of fit.  The eye laser flickered and died and Nora gripped the barrel of her shotgun with shaking hands.

    “You  _ moron _ ,” she croaked, voice cracking as she glared at James. “You had me thinking we were all about to die.”

    James blinked and stared, dumbfounded. “What?”   


    “You don’t just yell ‘get down’ and then throw a grenade without giving people time to actually get to safety,” Hancock muttered, shaking his head as he stood and helped Nora up. 

    “It was just a pulse grenade,” James replied, still perplexed.

    “We weren’t aware of that,” Danse said evenly.  Comprehension dawned on James’s face and blood rose in his cheeks.

    “Oh -- I -- I thought I said something,” he stammered.  Nora covered her hands with her face, muttering to herself.

    “What happened to never using pulse grenades?” she asked, face as red as James’s. “I thought you didn’t want to destroy the ‘bots?”   


    “Didn’t have much of a choice,” James replied, scowling at her. 

    Nora didn’t immediately reply.  After a few seconds of tense silence, she shook her head and turned away.

    “Gunners have been here,” she called over her shoulder, “We need to get moving and figure out where the hell they are.”

 

    They found the Gunners -- a small recon team, by the looks of it -- dead in the bowels of the factory, torn apart by a pack of nukalurks.  Ready and on solid ground this time, Nora and the rest were able to take them out, one at a time, until the factory floor was slick with sticky blood and the air stunk of dirty water and gunpowder.

    Outside, along the remains of the loading dock, were more, including a king guarding a large nest.  By the time they had dispatched the lot, it was well past sundown. They climbed to the roof of the plant, above the stink and anything else that might be prowling, and set up camp along the base of a giant, rusted bottle statue.

    Nora stood close to the edge of the roof, leaned on creaking safety railing, looking out over the parks.  She could see the winking lights of Nuka Town in the distance, almost gaudy against the backdrop of dark, empty wasteland.  Travelers in the market talked about settlements, dirt farms and trading posts, west and south of the parks, but information was scarce and maps scarcer so.

    She shifted, suppressing a shiver as a breeze drifted across her skin.  Her clothes were still damp, the smell of fish and muck drifting off them.

    “That thing sturdy enough to be leanin’ on?”   
    Nora pursed her lips as Hancock sidled up alongside her.  “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she replied, staring resolutely into the distance.  She heard him huff once.

    “You have something to say?”

    Hancock shook his head. “Sunshine, I’ve got a lot to say, but ya’ haven’t been listening.”

    Nora bit her tongue and kept staring into the distance.  After a few minutes, Hancock drifted away, returning shortly with a folded camp blanket.  Wordlessly, he shook it out and draped it over Nora’s shoulders.

    “Thanks,” she muttered, still not meeting his eyes.  He shrugged.

    “You should change,” he said, “Don’t want to hang out in wet clothes.”   


    “I will,” Nora replied, tugging the blanket closer around her shoulders.

    Silence fell between them for a few minutes.  Finally, Hancock sighed and turned towards her.

    “So, ya’ gonna explain why you’re so pissed off tonight?”   


    Nora turned and gave him an icy glare. “You want to know why I’m pissed off tonight?”

    “That is what I asked.”

    “I’m pissed that you decided to come, as if I can’t handle this on my own,  _ and _ you dragged Danse along, changing strategy without even  _ telling me _ .”

    “You sayin’ Danse is a burden in a fight?”   


    Nora huffed. “No, and you know that’s not my point.  This is a Minuteman operation and you went over the Minuteman  _ general  _ to make decisions.  That’s why I’m pissed.”

    Hancock was silent a moment, looking away from her while he lit a cigarette and took a deep draw.

    “That’s a load of bullshit.”   


    “Excuse me?”   


    Hancock looked back at her, his face hard. “You’re not mad because I violated some stupid chain of command.  You’ve never cared about that before. You’re pissed because your ego’s bruised.”   


    Nora yanked the slipping blanket over her shoulder and huffed. “My ego is fine.”

    “Keep telling yourself that, Sunshine.”   


    “Are you sure it’s not  _ your _ ego that’s bruised?” she replied, voice acidic and eyes sparking.

    “Sunshine, let me tell you something,” Hancock said, “Ever since you crawled out of that godforsaken vault, you’ve had people telling you how great you are.  You’ve done wonderful things for everyone -- the Minutemen, the Railroad, the Commonwealth in general. You’ve helped everyone and they’ve been happy to show their appreciation.”

    “Oh, so now I’m conceited?”   


    “No, you’re just overconfident,” Hancock answered, taking a heavy breath and ignoring the bait. “Don’t get me wrong -- you’re damn good at what you do.  People  _ should _ be appreciative.  But that doesn’t mean you can or should do it all or do it alone.”   


    Nora didn’t reply, just looked away and stared into the darkness, hunched in on herself.  Hancock waited a few minutes before continuing.

    “You’re perfectly capable,” he said, “And while I worry like hell about you sometimes, there’s no one I trust more to watch my back.  But neither of us is invincible.”

    There was a pause before she answered. “I know that, John.”   


    “You know it, you gotta remember it,” he replied, “These aren’t the days where you’ve got nothing to go home to anymore.”

    Nora didn’t answer, her gaze a million miles away.  Hancock took a step closer and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.  She stood stiffly under him, like she was still simmering underneath, but didn’t pull away.  He supposed the discussion would come back for more eventually, but for now she seemed willing to set it aside.

    “Never thought I’d miss the closeness in Sanctuary,” he said after a while.  Nora’s shoulders relaxed a bit and she leaned in to him.

    “Yeah,” she replied, “I’d even go for listening to the generators over this.”

    Hancock squeezed her closer, leaving a kiss on the top of her head. “Soon, Sunshine.”

 

    James hunched over on himself, staring into the little campfire he’d built, occasionally glancing over at Nora.  She was facing away from him, but he could tell by the stiff way she stood and the clipped way she’d spoken to him earlier, that she was still upset with him.

    Not for no reason, either, he knew -- the shock it must have been to have the grenade go off so close to her…

    He sighed and returned to staring at the fire, which had started to flag.  He grabbed a stick and poked at the coals listlessly. He was about to give up when Danse appeared, sliding into place a foot away from him.  

    “That was quick thinking, using the pulse grenade,” he said, leaning forward to blow a quick puff of air over the coals.  They flickered and flared back to life, the orange lights illuminating his face and earnest expression.

    “Sorry I didn’t say anything,” James replied, pulling his knees closer to his chest. “I didn’t think.”

_ Like usual _ , he added to himself.

    Danse shrugged. “It all turned out okay,” he said, “You’re not a soldier, I wouldn’t expect you to act like one.”

    James stared at the fire, trying to decide how to feel about that statement.  It didn’t  _ feel _ like an insult, but it wasn’t like he was great on picking up on those things.

    “Uh, thanks,” he stammered after a moment, sneaking a peek over at Danse.  Danse turned and met his gaze for a moment. He wasn’t smiling, but his expression was open and honest, devoid of judgment.  James looked back down at the fire, suppressing a shiver even though he had long since changed into dry clothes. It had been a long time since he’d been flustered by anyone, and longer still since it had been another man.

    “Were you serious about what you said yesterday?” Danse asked, voice dropping to nearly a whisper.  James wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, wondering when his mouth had gone so dry.

    “About how you enhance the scenery?”

    “Um -- no,” Danse replied, meeting James’s gaze and then looking away again.  It was hard to tell in the dark, but his face looked red.

    “Oh,” James said, cursing himself silently. “Um. HQ.  Right?”

    Danse nodded. “Did you mean that?”

    “Of course,” James said, “If you still want to.”

    Danse looked over and this time, held it.  James felt his chest tighten in an almost unfamiliar way.

    “Yes.  Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't abandon you guys! <3


End file.
